


It Takes Two Souls to Wage War

by ieroses



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, Arranged Marriage, Background Nyx/Luna, Dancing, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mutual Pining, Neck Kissing, Prince!Prompto, References to Depression, Slow Burn, basically the type of marriage from high school, married to your best friend, when you used to put your facebook relationship status as
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-31
Updated: 2018-09-10
Packaged: 2018-12-22 07:29:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 51,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11962626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ieroses/pseuds/ieroses
Summary: As a sign of Lucis’ dedication to peace and harmony between their two nations, Niflheim demands the marriage of Prince Noctis Lucis Caelum to Prince Prompto Argentum Aldercapt, thus ending the Lucis bloodline and keeping the Prince away from his Oracle.Because that's a good idea.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> buckle up for some angst y'all

It’s a tad melodramatic, Noctis thinks, watching the procession move towards the citadel. Dancers, soldiers, glass and jewels flashing in the sun. A blonde boy riding on the back of a pure white horse at the centre of it all.

 

He feels his father’s presence at his back before the elder man settles a hand down on his shoulder, squeezing.

 

‘Things have taken quite a turn,’ Noctis mutters, stretching his neck against the itching collar of his suit.

 

‘I understand this is not what you wanted. I assure you that if there were any other way – ’

 

‘Not this speech again, dad. It will be fine. Like you said, it’s just for show.’ He shrugs. ‘Another way to trap us in a corner.’

 

His father’s grip tightens, but there is no other visible reaction.

 

From the balcony, they watch as the crowds cheer, waving roses, snapping pictures. It’s a sight, if nothing else. Something for the city to remember. A bit of fun, to distract from the fact that the whole reason for this day is to buy them a little more time of safety behind their walls. It helps that the new prince is likable: waving and grinning, bowing his head as though in reverence. He’s a whole world of his own compared to the stoic figures of the Niflheim council in open topped cars at his back, the frowning figure of Emperor Iedolas crowning their overbearing shadow.

 

King Regis must register something in Noctis’ face because he begins to speak again, using the same tone he used with Noctis as a child when he was trying to be funny to lighten his son’s sadness. He could never quite manage it. ‘It’s not like anybody wants it consummated.’

 

Noctis jerks out of Regis’ grip, heat rising to his cheeks, spluttering.

 

‘Tasteless joke?’ The king at least has the decency to appear guilty over his lack of tact. ‘Although I must say, the point stands. You have been committed to Lunafreya since childhood, and this must remain sanct in the eyes of the – ’

 

‘Okay, just, stop. I can promise you there is no worry of me… tainting whatever pact we have. That is really going to be the least of our problems.’

 

‘In that case,’ says Regis, mouth quirking, ‘you could at least stop looking at the boy as though the sight of him alone is enough to make you ill.’

 

On that parting note, the King moves away, walking stick punctuating every slow step. Noctis watches him leave, the councilors following behind him towards the great hall, towards the ceremony. Noctis takes one last glance at the procession on the street below before following.

 

They’re really overplaying it with the white, he thinks, and the horses.

 

*-*

 

Noctis is going to have to study the pictures before answering any media questions about the event because the whole ceremony is a haze.

 

The audience is huge and overbearing, a sea of blind eyes stretching through the endless hall. Noctis keeps his eyes forward as he enters from one side, Prince Prompto entering from the other at the same time, neither waiting for the other so as to ensure a constant appearance of equality. It almost doesn’t feel like a wedding at all, and this helps Noctis breathe a little easier.

 

They are supposed to hold hands but when Prince Prompto reaches over the best Noctis can manage is a touch of their fingers held out in front. It’s good enough for the pictures. Noctis thinks he sees something flash in the other boy’s eyes – because they are just boys, really, barely fresh out of eighteen – but it is gone as quickly as it comes and the other prince settles gracefully back into his performance. Noctis wonders whether it’s practice or natural talent. 

 

His voice is hollow, and Ignis will chide him for it later, as he makes his oath, the word _obey_ poisoning his mouth as he forces it through his teeth. He is just about aware enough to register Prompto making his vows, the way the words are slightly lifted, almost as though he could actually be happy about this union.

 

When it is over and the rings have been exchanged, Noctis remembers his instructions and turns to the camera waiting in the central isle.

 

‘Put your arm around my waist,’ Prince Prompto hisses through his smile, too quiet for anyone but Noctis to hear.

 

‘What?’ says Noctis, frowning.

 

But the blond is already pressed beside him, both hands wrapping around one of Noctis’ and leaving the darker prince no choice but to comply.

 

This is the photo that becomes the symbol of peace: two figures, one stark, frowning black, arm wrapped around the other pure, grinning white, the stained glass light of the citadel streaming down behind them as though under the blessings of the Gods themselves.

 

*-*

 

Prompto keeps smiling.

 

Never mind the ghost of the Emperor’s words – ‘I know it may be a struggle for you, but try not to do anything stupid’ – or the following comfort of the Chancellor – ‘Fear not, Prompto. I am sure you will prove useful.’

 

Never mind the glares of his new partner (Prompto just can’t face the word _husband_ , the very concept to his ears sounding ridiculous) that are shot his way in the brief moments when the boy stops ignoring him.

 

Never mind the glaives eyeing his every move, as though he is about to pick up a dinner knife and shove the blade through the crown prince’s neck at any moment. He’d much rather stick it through his own wrists and be done with it.

 

No, never mind all the drama.

 

Prince Prompto Argentum Aldercapt just keeps smiling.

 

*-*

 

There is no first dance.

 

There is a moment where it should be, a sudden intensity to the air once dinner is finished with. When neither prince rises to lead, the music begins and some of the braver lords and ladies take to the dance floor to dissolve the awkwardness as best they can.

 

The speeches are political. They speak of symbols, of peace, of the start to a blooming relationship between the _powerful_ Niflheim and the _quaint_ Lucis. Prompto feels Noctis go ridged at these words of the Emperor and glances over to see rage on the prince’s face, fists curled on the table.

 

With well practiced grace, Prompto slides his hand over that of Noctis and digs his fingernails into the other prince’s skin, forcing Noctis’ hand to open. Noctis’s eyes slit into daggers. The blond begs of him, ‘Smile,’ but he doesn’t.

 

*-*

 

The Emperor leaves with nothing more than a muttered, ‘I’ll be in touch,’ to Prompto, making much more of a show when saying his goodbyes to the king. Prompto can read his every movement, from the twitch of his smirk to the cracking of his fingers, but it seems as though the king can, too, so he isn’t worried. Oddly, it is the Chancellor who pulls Prompto aside to whisper some quick words of advice in the prince’s ear.

 

‘They will not trust you, at first. You must change that. You are smart, and kind, and they will see that eventually. But for them to do so, you must prove it and show them.’ He says these words with an intensity the blond doesn’t expect, one hand in an iron grip around Prompto’s bicep. He takes it as concern and drinks the words in, using them to buoy up his waning confidence.

 

*-*

 

They exit the banquet hall side by side, just close enough to imply some level of familiarity, if not intimacy. As soon as the large panel doors have slammed shut behind them, Noctis is stalking away, hunched down with his hands thrust into his pockets. There are two men waiting for him in the hall and when he shoves past them they turn to follow, leaving Prompto dazed and alone.

 

A guard steps forward, nods low enough to almost class as a bow, and says, ‘This way, Your Highness.’

 

Prompto nods him forwards and follows. The halls of the palace are much more traditional than those from his home. They are light, a lot of wood and gold, portraits staggered along every wall. He walks slowly, drinking in every unfamiliar face and watercolour blurred view. The landscapes are his favourite.

 

He loses his sense of direction as they walk deeper into the palace, the eyes of stationary guards following them as they go. Eventually they come to a stop outside a pair of towering black doors, bordered on each side by a guard. His own guide stops and turns to him.

 

‘This is your suite. If you are in need of anything, please just ask one of the guards stationed outside your doors or the housemaid who will come by each morning. The king respectfully asks that you keep to your wing of the palace, for your own safety of course, and that any personal communications with the outside are first run by our communications office.’

 

Prompto is struck for a moment, shuffling on his feet and unable to meet the other’s eye, because of course such a request is ludicrous. But it is from the king, and he cannot afford to kick up an argument so early on, not without his father’s council at his back. He is alone here. What option does he have?

 

‘Someone will be by to lead you to your private dining room tomorrow.’

 

‘Private dining room?’

 

‘Yes, Your Highness.’ He does not wait to be dismissed and is already turning away when Prompto stops him with a sharpness of voice that surprises even him.

 

‘And the library?’

 

‘Library, Your Highness?’

 

‘Yes. And my office, of course.’

 

The confusion on his face masks back into one of practiced blankness as he folds his hands behind his back. ‘Your office can be found in your suite. If you are in want of any books you need only ask.’

 

Prompto feels something cracking inside as the full scope of his situation begins to become clear. It is an effort to maintain his mask of entitlement, but years of practice have made it almost easy. ‘And the training rooms?’

 

At this the guard shifts, jaw twitching. ‘The king respectfully requests that you remain unarmed within the palace.’

 

‘Respectfully,’ Prompto repeats, disbelief tainting his voice.

 

He receives a mere nod in return, and then, ‘Goodnight, Prince Prompto.’

 

The guard leaves with quick steps and all too soon Prompto is left to silence, alone but for the two men stationed at his doors. ‘I guess I’ll open this myself,’ he mutters, hands wrapping around the door handles, because although it was those obsessive little actions of service that used to grate against him in the past, there is something sickening in this change now. A feeling that it is more a bad omen, a metaphor for greater things to come, if you will.

 

The suite is… nice. Huge, all blacks and silvers. Sure enough there are plenty of rooms; study, bedroom, bathroom, lounge area, personal kitchen, all branching off one great central area where a circular sofa looks out onto a balcony. The windows stretch across the exposed wall, rich curtains hanging low but open, presenting the Insomnia skyline and the place above it where the stars should be if not for the light of the city. Prompto turns out the room’s lights but the window is enough to keep the room’s décor – all plants and rugs and rich, wooden furniture spread across marble floor – alight.

 

He walks through the rooms in darkness, absorbing their sheer size. Everything is beautiful, exquisitely made and meticulously designed, but what strikes Prompto most is the inherent emptiness of all this space.

 

Finally he shuffles into the bedroom, this too lightened by a great, stretching window. He starts to undress but somewhere between undoing the first button and the last of his crisp white uniform he forgets the point and collapses onto the bed, curling up into a tight ball.

 

It’s just too… quiet.

 

‘It’s better than Niflheim,’ Prompto whispers to himself, repeating the words like a chant, hands stroking the silk of the bed sheets. Because it is better. It is. But the thing is, anything would be better than Niflheim.

 

*-*

 

‘So that’s it,’ Noctis mutters, hand clenched around a whisky glass – Gladio thought it only fair, the boy being _married_ now, he should at least get the benefits of adulthood if it was to be thrust upon him – ‘Niflheim is on the throne of Lucis.’

 

‘No need to be quite so dramatic, Noct,’ Ignis chides, glancing at the prince over his glasses, ‘this is just another move in the game of dominance. Lucis still stands a chance yet.’

 

‘Yeah, a move that brings them fucking close to winning. All he has to do now is get rid of dad and me then he’s king.’

 

Gladio snorts from the couch across the room. ‘C’mon Noct, did you even look at him? Kid looks terrified of so much as hurting a fly.’

 

‘It’s all part of their plan, I tell you.’

 

‘Their plan,’ says Ignis, ‘is doubtless to get a man on the inside, one we have no choice but to accept into the fold. But as you have seen, your father is ensuring his limited autonomy thus disabling any attempts to gain information. Meanwhile, we are working tirelessly to find a way to fight the empire. We must all do our part, and unfortunately, this is yours.’

 

Noctis stares at Ignis flatly. ‘I’m married, Iggy. To a guy. To the fucking prince of Niflheim.’

 

‘To a boy. And frankly one who, at times, looked as terrified tonight as you did angry.’

 

‘Were you looking at the same person as me because from where I was stood he looked like he was loving it?’

 

‘He’s a good actor,’ Gladio comments before Ignis can speak, ‘makes a guy wonder.’

 

‘Wonder what?’

 

‘What exactly was he acting to cover up?’

 

‘Isn’t it obvious? He wants to stick a knife in my throat.’

 

‘Or,’ Gladio smirks, ‘that could just be your inflated sense of self importance speaking.’

 

Noctis throws a pillow at his shield that the man catches effortlessly.

 

‘Really though,’ Ignis says before their brief spat can elevate into outright chaos, ‘The event is over now. And your marriage, Noct, is a fact of life for the kingdom. A useful one, at that. We must be careful, yes, but from hereon in I believe the best we can do is let the atoms fall as they may and hope they fall in our favour. I cannot say for sure, but I do not believe Prompto is going to disrupt this plan all that much.’

 

‘I hope you’re right,’ Noctis coughs, fighting back the burn as he swigs the last of the whisky, ‘for all our sakes.’

 

*-*


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the response to the first chapter! I appreciate all the comments so much and I'll reply to them when I can but rn I'm galavanting around Italy so trying to find wifi is too annoying for any long tasks lmao 
> 
> Pls don't hate me after this I promise things will get better soon

Prompto eats alone, on the first day of his married life.

 

Breakfast is brought to him first thing, and though the meal is elaborate, colourful, and likely well cooked, the prince can taste nothing in the wake of his nervousness.

 

Afterward, he waits for direction, waits to be given something to _do_. The hours of the day pass, and with each quiet moment, Prompto grows uneasier, until he simply asks.

 

The servant looks briefly confused, but recovers, replying, ‘Well, your highness, what would you like to do?’

 

Prompto is taken aback. Never in his life has he been asked such a question. ‘I think,’ he says, ‘I would like to see the prince.’

 

‘I am afraid that is not possible at this time.’

 

‘Why not?’

 

‘The prince is occupied.’

 

‘I can wait. When will he be unoccupied?’

 

The awkward set to the servant’s shoulders is reply enough. The simple answer is this: prince Noctis will never be unoccupied. At least, not for his husband.

 

‘I am sure,’ the servant tries to say, diplomatically, ‘that the prince will attempt to visit you at the earliest opportunity. Will that be all?’

 

Prompto allows the man to escape.

 

*-*

 

At dinner he is lead to another large, open hall, big enough for banquets. There is a long table, capable of seating thirty at least. At its head is one place setting.

 

A further something begins to crumble within Prompto, but he does not let it show, for the room is populated with guards and servants aplenty. He gathers himself, puts on his father’s favourite mask of entitlement, and seats himself at his table.

 

The meal is five courses long. Prompto tastes none of it.

 

When he returns to his room, he asks, ‘Is dinner always like that?’

 

The servant’s reply is polite enough, but it is not hard to translate for what it means: _for you it is_.

 

Prompto establishes orders that he will eat in his rooms from thereon in, except for special occasions.

 

Not that there will be many of _those_.

 

*-*

 

He is given everything he could think to ask for. Food, music, books, games, films, a _camera_.

 

The latter is the savior. Though the palace feels more like a prison with every passing day, the lens of a camera changes everything. There is beauty in these empty rooms, light in the city drowned sky.

 

The balcony of his suite opens up onto the gardens. Armed with his camera as he is, Prompto feels more confidence exploring the grounds. He can feel the courtier’s gaze at him, whispering rumors he is sure flood the palace. But what do such problems matter against the perfect sepia filter to capture the statues?

 

*-*

 

Prompto is given no warning when the Oracle visits, and the shock of it almost makes him drop his precious camera.

 

She and Noctis wander the garden, oblivious to their silent observer. Noctis laughs at something Luna says, the sound of it echoing throughout the otherwise empty garden, but this is not what breaks Prompto.

 

He watches Noctis, watches him smile, watches the shine in his eyes, watches the emotions screaming _love love love_.

 

And it is that which breaks the lonely prince.

 

He does not want Noctis’ love, not necessarily. But he wants the love of _someone_ so very very much.

 

*-*

 

Prompto breaks the clock in the mantle piece.

 

He has been married four weeks, five days and seven hours. He does not know the seconds, and it is for that reason he cannot stand the obnoxious ticking any longer.

 

The servants arrive with his dinner, now always served in his rooms, and quickly disappear again. Prompto stares at the silver platter, blind to the colorful meal provided, consumed by that _ticking_.

 

 _Tick. Tick. Tick_.

 

He grabs the knife, stalks towards the fireplace, and smashes the glass.

 

It occurs to him, afterward, that it is potentially dangerous to eat a meal with a knife possibly tainted with broken glass. So he doesn’t bother. With the eating, that is.

 

*-*

 

Merely a shower later, the dinner is gone, as is the mess from the clock. Prompto sort of misses the broken pieces.

 

He orders the servants not to fix the timepiece, and though they seem confused, they concede, as they should to a prince and an heir to an empire.

 

Desiring to escape the confines of his rooms, even for but an evening, he asks once more to be taken to the library.

 

‘What books do you desire, your Highness? We are happy to provide.’

 

‘I don’t know,’ answers the Prince, ‘in fact I would simply like to browse myself.’

 

‘I am afraid,’ replies the servant, ‘that is not allowed.’

 

‘Excuse me?’ Prompto can’t help but blink stupidly in disbelief.

 

Suddenly, for the first time in as many weeks of forcefully crushing such thoughts, he is reminded of his father, and his father’s lessons. This treatment should not stand. It is an insult, an abomination, and even the messenger should be punished for thinking it acceptable to deliver such orders.

 

But Prompto is not his father. He knows who he is, and what he is, and he has much more self restraint than the monster who raised him.

 

‘If I may,’ the prince says, ‘please make the palace staff aware that my bedchamber is now off limits. I shall tend to it myself when necessary.’

 

If the servant is confused by the change in direction, he does not show it, merely bowing in acknowledgment and leaving once dismissed.

 

Prompto maintains his control for the steps it takes to travel between the living room and his bedroom. He takes a deep breath as he locks the door behind himself, turns, leans against the wood, takes yet another breath, looking at the shiny mirrors and majestic art, the wooden framed furniture and plush pillows. His movements are similarly controlled as he walks towards the windows and pulls the curtains closed, burying the room in darkness except for the thinnest rays of light encroaching around the edge of the blinds.

 

And then, he lets loose, and destroys it all.

 

*-*

 

He awakes in the morning to the sounds of breakfast arriving in the next room.

 

His hands are sticky with dried blood, stinging with splinters and pieces of broken glass.

 

The remains of his bedroom crunch under his injured feet as he staggers to the bathroom. There, under the glaring lights, with his back to the mirror, he washes out his injuries, fixing them up the best he can without calling for help using the small supply of bandages under the counter. He hides the bloodied towels, not wanting them to be found and cleaned by housekeeping, as it would only lead to alarm and suspicion.

 

Using the light from the bathroom, Prompto carefully clears a trail through the debris leading between his bathroom and his bedroom.

 

Then, with little else to bother doing, he goes back to bed.

 

*-*

 

Eventually, the social season begins, and Prompto finds himself with duties.

 

There is a banquet, a very public affair celebrating the passing of some new law or something. Prompto never has cared enough for politics to keep up with such things beyond what is required of him, and recently that has been very little.

 

He is informed of the event only the day before, and uses what little time he has to prepare as best he can, researching the facts and the other attendants. Image is, after all, everything, and he must be seen to have been playing an active role in the ruling of Lucius if nothing else.

 

Prompto dresses in his best suit; a pure white affair, well fitted to his ever thinning figure and decorated with silver lining. After taking a deep breath, he checks himself over in the mirror, ensuring he is ready for the multitude of cameras. If one were to look closely, the smattering of cuts and bruises are still clear on his hands, but who is going to look?

 

When he is ready, he asks his guards to lead him to the throne room.

 

*-*

 

The Niflheim Prince is a sight as he appears in the hall leading to the banquet.

 

Noctis had almost forgotten the boy’s radiance, the glowing white of his suit and hair, the serene joy of his grinning expression.

 

‘Prince Noctis,’ he nods in greeting. Noctis manages but a mutter in answering acknowledgment before he turns away, torn between awe and annoyance. Because, looking at that boy, he is nothing but wonderful, but Noctis cannot let his guard down, not when Prompto is clearly playing on his looks to gain something, whatever that may be.

 

*-*

 

Unsurprisingly, Noctis is unresponsive throughout most of the banquet.

 

Prompto makes an effort to converse with the guests around them, drifting between conversations, offering grins and laughter where it is warranted, and concern and passion where it is needed. The Lucien prince seems uninterested in such diplomacy, especially when it involves associating himself with the other prince in any way.

 

As the evening progresses, this introduces a problem.

 

‘People are noticing,’ Prompto sings, finally, through a tight grin.

 

There is a moment where Noctis seems surprised Prompto is even attempting to interact with him, and then, ‘what?’

 

‘I know it may have slipped your mind, but I am you _husband_. If you go a whole evening without so much as interacting with me, people will talk.’

 

Noctis rolls his eyes. ‘People always talk.’

 

Prompto allows silence to fall for a moment as a group of courtiers wander pass, nodding their hellos and barely concealing their curiosity.

 

‘If our marriage is entirely based in public image, then it means you must at least maintain the actual _public fucking image_.’

 

Noctis jerks back, surprised by the sudden vehemence in the other boy’s tone, though it seems to dissolve as quickly as it appears. ‘Whoa, what crawled up your ass and died?’

 

Frustration wells up inside of Prompto, but serves only to kill his anger with hopelessness. He can do nothing but throw his walls back up and stalk away from Noctis, doing everything he can not to show his disappointment.

 

*-*

 

Prompto confuses Noctis.

 

Noctis spends much of the evening keeping his distance in an effort to watch the other’s interactions with the court, but he finds no sign of the brief flash of annoyance exposed only to him. There is no design to those Prompto deigns to talk to. If anything, his random choices of companion are the least helpful of the options, often only minor dignitaries than the politicians who would truly offer any firm military intel.

 

From what Noctis can tell, Prince Prompto appears to have no personal designs at all.

 

Which must make him very, very good at his job.

 

*-*

 

They are in the papers, in the magazines, and on the news.

 

It is not good. Ignis is not happy.

 

‘Could you not, for once, have at least _tried_?’

 

Noctis flops down against his coach, frowning up at the ceiling. ‘You can’t all have it both ways, y’know. You can’t have me keep my distance from him and be all lovey dovey for the cameras. He’ll suspect something.’

 

‘No.’ Ignis gestures towards the magazine front page blaring loudly the headline ‘ _Nif Prince’s Royally Unrequited Love’_. ‘He’ll be relieved. Can’t you see he’s already playing the game? Now you need to start, too.’

 

‘But he’s up to something, Iggy. He must be.’

 

‘He is just a boy, Noct.’

 

‘He is the enemy.’

 

*-*

 

‘I have an idea,’ says Prompto at their next ball, ‘to fix our PR issues.’

 

Noct, still dwelling on Ignis’ most recent scolding, swallows and nods. ‘Okay. What is it?’

 

A pause, where even Noctis can see how surprised the actor is at the other prince’s civil tone. And then: ‘I can’t tell you.’

 

Noctis jerks his head around to look at the blonde prince, frowning. ‘You realise such a statement doesn’t exactly create confidence.’

 

A slight quirk grows at the corner of the blond’s mouth, and Noctis’ eye catches on the feature, something warm bubbling in his chest at witnessing the natural reaction. He quells the feelings quickly.

 

‘I just know it’s an idea you’re not gonna like. But it’s a good one, I promise.’

 

‘Should I have much faith in your promises?’

 

Prompto raises an eyebrow. ‘I suppose you’re just going to have to trust me.’

 

*-*

 

The dancefloor, usually full, is clear, and the orchestra has faded into silence.

 

This is when Noctis realizes what is about to happen.

 

Prompto, composed as always, grins out at the crowd as he subtly coaxes Noctis into taking his hand and guides them together out onto the dancefloor. Camera clicks punctuate their every step.

 

Noctis is sweating, nervousness shaking his very bones. Without exchanging words, Prompto allows Noctis to lead. Before the dark haired prince has enough time to compose himself, the music is beginning, and they are moving.

 

Prompto is a good dancer; agile, confident and knowledgeable. His skill makes up for Noctis’ lack thereof. He can’t help but think of how obvious such things are to the rest of the crowd, too.

 

Noctis wants to be angry, wants to be suspicious, wants to hate this prince for what his country has done to Lucis. But his hand is soft in Noctis’, steps sure alongside Noctis’ own, and his eyes are so very, very blue.

 

So, for a few precious moments, Noctis loses himself in it. Prompto is grinning, eyes trained on those of the other Prince, and somewhere between the first note and the last Noctis forgets that they’re doing all this for the crowd. Forgets that it’s an act. Forgets that he is supposed to hate his kind boy with the gentle freckles.

 

But when the song ends, everything comes rushing back to Noctis, twice over, because how dare this Niflheim prince think he can take Lucis with a few pretty smiles and some dance moves. How dare he.

 

And so, Noctis escapes.

 

*-*

 

‘Where are you going?’

 

The voice stops Noctis cold in the hallway, unfamiliar yet recognizable as it is. He turns to see Prompto standing there in his blazing white outfit, bordered on either side by glaive guards. The other boy seems… confused.

 

‘I thought that went well. Didn’t you?’

 

Behind the other prince, Gladiolus and Ignis appear. Though they stagger to a stop a few steps back, they are within easy listening distance to whatever the two princes have to say to one another.

 

Noctis gathers himself, and then: ‘What game are you playing?’

 

Prompto’s eyebrows rise in shock. ‘Excuse me?’

 

‘You! With all your fake smiles and smooth lines and _dancing_. What are you hoping to achieve? What do you want?’

 

The prince is silent.

 

‘Answer me dammit.’

 

And then the prince is angry. ‘You’re accusing me now? Accusing me of playing the game wrong? You realise these things have been my first opportunity for actual conversation for months, and you think I’m using them to _play_ you? Ridiculous. I’m trying to make myself useful, for once. I’m trying to _help_ you! Which would be a whole lot easier if you would play along. I just want to _help_.’

 

Prompto attempts to stalk away from the conversation, brushing past the prince with a forceful knock against the shoulder that sends the boy staggering. Noctis captures Prompto around the wrist, forcing the other to stop.

 

‘Why would _you_ want to help us? What are you hiding,’ hisses Noctis.

 

And suddenly, the anger dissolves. ‘I am not hiding something, Noctis. I am lonely.’

 

With that, Noctis can do nothing but let the small prince slip his arm free and walk away, back hunched against the large corridor.


	3. Chapter 3

Prompto doesn’t bother acknowledging the knock with anything more than a noncommittal grunt, expecting another plate of likely to become untouched food. As a result, his surprise jumps him out of his cozy cocoon of cushions when one of his guests clears their throat to gain his attention.

 

The two men at the door are familiar enough, Prompto having seen them at Noctis’ back many a time in the past. Why they are in his rooms escapes him, but he has not yet lost his manners. He straightens in his chair, not deigning to stand, as it should be for royalty versus staff. The best he thinks to do to help his attire is lifting his quilt to cover as much as he can of his crumpled pajamas.

 

‘Can I help you,’ he asks, wincing as his voice breaks.

 

The two men share a brief glance and then the larger man saunters forward. ‘Nah man, we just came to see how you were doing.’

 

‘How I’m… doing?’

 

‘Gladiolus,’ the slimmer man intones, ‘has pointed out how boring it must get in these rooms when you’ve no one with which to explore them. While we are not the youthful “squad” I’m sure you would prefer, we are here to offer what help we can.’

 

‘Speak for yourself, Iggy. I’m still young.’

 

“Iggy” simply roles his eyes, bringing the slightest smile of amusement to Prompto’s face.

 

The two men seem to take this as some sort of invitation. ‘This is Ignis,’ gestures the larger man, ‘and you can call me Gladio.’

 

‘It is a pleasure, your Highness,’ nods Ignis.

 

Prompto opens his mouth confidently, but then stutters to a stop, his father’s savage lessons coming back to halt his tongue. But what can his father possibly do now; it is not as though Prompto is royalty in anything else by this point. ‘The pleasure’s all mine,’ he says, and then, ‘uh, I’m Prompto. Just… just Prompto, thanks.’

 

In the following silence, the two men seem to understand.

 

‘Watcha got there,’ asks Gladio, breaking the awkwardness.

 

Prompto glances at the phone in his hand as though surprised to find it there himself, having forgotten in the sudden hope of company. ‘King’s Knight? It’s just a game –’

 

‘Shit man, you play!?’ Gladio jumps around the arm of the sofa and lands on the opposite end of the cushions, causing Prompto to bounce. His phone is already out of his pocket as he nods in Ignis’ vague direction. ‘C’mon man, you’re not gettin’ out of this either.’

 

But Ignis is already heading over to one of the armchairs opposite the sofa, attempting to suppress his bemused expression.

 

Gladio leans over to Prompto, whispering, ‘He thinks he can hide it from us, but we know Iggy’s still a kid at heart.’

 

At this something inside Prompto laughs, just a little, even if he doesn’t express it out loud, and suddenly, things are better.

 

*-*

 

When Ignis arrives some time during the next evening, he is carrying two full plastic bags.

 

Prompto fails to hide his curiosity. Ignis walks past him and toward the suit’s kitchen. Gladio trails his friend, sparing only a nod for the prince on the couch.

 

After a beat, Prompto follows too.

 

There’s an easiness between Ignis and Gladio in the kitchen as they empty the contents of the bags, sliding cans into cupboards and food into the fridge. In the corner, Prompto shuffles about, feeling like the guest in his own place.

 

Once the bags are emptied, Ignis starts pulling out chopping boards and knives and pans. Prompto doesn’t know what to do. He’s been taught from birth his place, and the place of others in relation to himself, so really he should be scolding the men for invading his space. Except Ignis and Gladio are behaving as though this kitchen is theirs, and its hard to break through that sort of wall.

 

Until Ignis slides a bag of carrots in his direction, asking him to help chop them, and Prompto realizes there is no need to break through the wall. He’s already on the same side as them.

 

*-*

 

The food is good. Amazing, actually.

 

If he hadn’t been so focused on scraping his plate clean, Prompto would have felt eyes on him the whole meal. Ignis and Gladio keep up their steady stream of relaxed conversation, jokes and banter, but for all Ignis can tell, they may as well not be there for all Prompto is distracted.

 

The younger boy finishes his plate first, even looking a bit sheepish when he realizes the other two aren’t even half done.

 

Ignis, though conscious of not making the boy ill, takes a chance all the same. ‘More?’

 

‘No, thank you.’ Although Prompto is staring at the dish like he desperately wants to say yes.

 

Ignis settles his cutlery around the edge of his plate and folds his hands together. Even Gladio’s chewing slows as his eyes flicker between the other two.

 

‘Prompto,’ begins Ignis, ‘I have a favour to ask. A deal, if you will.’

 

Prompto, subconsciously backing further into his seat, further from Ignis, murmurs, ‘okay.’

 

‘Not to blow my own trumpet, but it seems clear that you enjoyed dinner tonight – something we have heard you have been struggling with until now. I thought, well, perhaps I could help? If the palace cooking is not up to your standard, I would be happy to offer my services.’ A pause. ‘Of course, if you were to accept – which I hope you will – I wouldn’t want to be wasting that effort. I need you to eat, Prompto. Can you do that for me?’

 

‘Why do you care?’

 

‘Excuse me?’

 

‘I’ve gone months in this place without anyone realising I needed – without anyone offering me any help. What’s changed?’

 

Ignis takes a deep breath. ‘I… I am sorry, Prompto. We have been failing you. At the banquet, the other night… It is hard for us to judge a person whom we do not know, especially when our only knowledge of them comes from the way their country is run. We were – we are in a difficult position, but Gladio and I have reached our limit. We don’t know what you are planning, if anything, but no one deserves to be treated so badly they start letting themselves waste away into nothing. We Lucien’s are better men than that.’

 

Prompto wants to ask if he’s really sure about that, but can’t, because there’s a lump in his throat the strength of a stone.

 

‘We want to help you, just like you apparently want to help us. Will you let us do that, your Highness?’

 

And because he can’t speak, not without the burning in his eyes tipping into full on tears, Prompto nods.

 

*-*

 

Ignis and Gladio keep coming, sometimes for hours, sometimes for a quick chat or to drop off some food, but they always come, and always with a smile.

 

They never mention Noctis.

 

Prompto asks once, quietly, timidly, if he’d consider just a conversation with the Niflheim prince. Though Ignis seemed disappointed even by his own answer, Prompto is gently encouraged not to hope.

 

*-*

 

Lunafreya and Ignis seem to disagree.

 

She doesn’t exactly introduce herself to Prompto as much as claim an immediate companionship. Joining him on the balcony at a particularly quiet event, lit silver by the lights of the city, she offers hope from the most unexpected of places.

 

‘How are you faring, Prompto?’ she asks.

 

He shuffles in place, mask falling under her scrutiny, because the way she looks at him is like she _knows_ without ever having to be told. Unsurprisingly, he doesn’t even have to answer. She nods, begins to watch the sky instead of him, and at least Prompto is capable of breathing once again.

 

‘I know you feel as though you have been struggling, but you have been doing well.’

 

‘I think that depends on how you define “well”.’

 

‘How would you define well?’

 

Prompto wonders if all oracles have the power to make you spill all your secrets with little more than a look, or if Lunafreya’s special brand of beautiful kindness is what does it for her. ‘I think.’ He swallows. ‘I think that depends on what you want from me.’

 

‘And what do you want from yourself?’

 

 _Happiness_ , he thinks, but the word gets stuck somewhere in his throat like a shard of glass.

 

Lunafreya rests a delicate hand on Prompto’s wrist. ‘It will take a long time, and a great deal of pain – so much more than one of your soul deserves – but happiness, true happiness, will come to you one day. And then it will stay, like the warmth in the air after a hot summer’s day. The sun will blaze around you always, even in darkness.’

 

‘I think you’re giving your prophecies to the wrong prince.’

 

Lunefraya smiles, sort of sadly. ‘I don’t think I am.’

 

Prompto shifts his body so Lunafreya’s hand falls. Leaning against the edge of the balcony he can see where the air drops into the sky, floors below the palace gardens and beyond that, beyond the walls, the city streets and the freedom beyond.

 

‘There is hope yet,’ continues Lunafreya, apparently insistent on gaining something from the quiet boy with the eyes full of unspoken things. ‘His friends are now your friends, are they not? You grow closer every day.’

 

Prompto lets loose a snort of derision. ‘His friends pity me. It’s not the same thing.’

 

‘Pity may have brought them to your door, but it was kindness that made them stay.’ Prompto opens his mouth to say something but is interrupted by Lunafreya, ‘ _Your_ kindness, Prompto. Whatever happens, whatever wars may come at you, promise me you won’t lose that kindness.’

 

‘Why are you being so nice to me? Aren’t you pissed that I stole your boyfriend?’

 

At this she laughs. ‘No, I am not _pissed_. At one time it was my destiny to stand by Noctis’ side as he faced the troubles of our world, but all things can change, and now that destiny is yours. I have no doubt you will offer him the strength he will need.’

 

‘But he won’t even talk to me.’

 

‘He will,’ says Luna, with a wink.

 

*-*

 

‘Are you getting medium or large?’ asks Noctis.

 

‘I think you’d like him.’

 

Frowning, Noctis turns away from the menu above the counter and eyes Gladio. ‘Who?’

 

‘Prompto.’

 

Noctis’ expression falls flat and he goes back to perusing his food options. ‘We’re not having this conversation.’

 

‘I’m just saying, you guys have a lot in common.’

 

‘He’s a nif.’

 

‘He’s a laugh.’

 

‘Screw you. I’m getting a large and you’re paying.’

 

*-*

 

A few weeks after they first begin to spend time together, Prompto vents his frustration with his imprisonment to Ignis. He does so with no motivation beyond a building incapability to keep himself quiet, so is surprised when, the next day, Ignis fixes it.

 

‘You won’t be allowed anywhere important. Nor, unfortunately, will you be allowed to leave the grounds without explicit permission. But the palace is a big place, and you are free to wonder the halls as far as you’d like. Someone will stop you before you enter somewhere you are not supposed to be.’

 

‘Thank you,’ breathes Prompto, and hugs his friend.

 

*-*

 

Ignis isn’t exaggerating. The palace is huge, a maze of embellished hallways and majestic art pieces. Prompto spends hours exploring, losing himself in the worlds of marble and oil paint.

 

There is a particular hallway where the entrance is a towering arch of white marble, embellished with carvings, the light glinting as though the stone itself glows. Prompto pauses outside of it, awestruck for a moment. As he walks through he lets his fingers ghost over the stonework.

 

Inside is Lucis.

 

At least, everything that Lucis has stood for throughout the generations. A museum of history captured in beauty.

 

Every installment holds a past leader of Lucis, the Caelum bloodline stretching endlessly down the rich purple corridor. As he walks along, Prompto curls in on himself, bowing humbly to every stern stare and majestic life sized podium piece.

 

Until he finds it, that which he hadn’t known he was looking for. It has surprisingly muted colours, all darkness and black, and Noctis looks so very small sitting next to his proud father. It is unbelievable to think this boy is the same one who glared so certainly during their vows.

 

Something drags Prompto forward until his nose is almost pressed to the canvas, fingers hovering close to the surface, as though wanting to dive into this world of the gentle youth and the protective father.

 

*-*

 

'I see you've met the family.'

 

Prompto jumps, accidentally scratching his fingers against the canvas. If his eyes had widened at Noctis' appearance, they were saucers now in fear of having damaged the piece.

 

'Relax. I've done worse things to the pieces in this corridor.'

 

Despite Noctis' attempts at calming the boy, he shuffles back from the paintings, hunching his shoulders as though trying to make himself smaller. Noctis let's the silence hang for a few moments, watching the way the blush fades from Prompto's cheeks only for his expression to fall into a well-worn sheepishness. He can't help but notice just how different the Niflheim prince looks, with no cameras to change his image. In these arching museum corridors, Prompto is so much smaller.

 

Noctis wanders forward and leans against the wall. Though he can feel Prompto's gaze on him, he trains his eyes on those of a statue across the hall.

 

'To the annoyance of both my handlers and my father, as a boy these corridors were certain favourites of mine. If you look at just the right angle, you can see where they've had to reattach the head just here.'

 

Noctis glances over to see if Prompto is looking where the Noctis directs. Though he does so cautiously, Noctis detects the slightest... curiosity.

 

'I may have been slightly too determined to show off my brand new warping power to my ancestors.'

 

And suddenly, the softest snort of laughter from Prompto. The first genuine laughter Noctis has ever heard from the boy.

 

It leaves Noctis sort of stumped, struck, so they both just stand, watching the spot of the grand hallway where Prince Noctis of Lucis proved he was very much human, and very much just a boy.

 

'I'm sorry.'

 

Noctis looks over, but Prompto is watching the carpet, biting his lip, arms crossed over his front. From that, Noctis thinks he knows what they're talking about, and he takes a deep breath, thinking of all the insistent speeches from both Ignis and Gladio of how _great a guy_ Prompto is. 'It's okay. Wasn't your decision to marry me either.'

 

'Not that. Actually, uh, I guess you could say I'm sorry for not being sorry.' Prompto looks up and it's an expression Noctis has never seen before, an expression definitely not of a prince. 'I'm sorry for truly, genuinely wanting this. If it helps, and I can't believe I'm saying this, it was nothing personal.'

 

'Then... why?'

 

Far at the end of the corridor, there stands a grand portrait of the first king of Lucis. It looks down on the entire ancestry of Lucis, and meets Prompto's eyes now, as the Niflheim prince gazes back. 'A leader never makes a move without first considering the best option that will achieve their goal.'

 

Confused, Noctis asks, 'so what's your goal?'

 

Prompto smiles, something secret hidden there, for once, shakes his head and says, 'nothing you need to be worried about.'

 

'You realise you're really not helping yourself with creepy shit like that.'

 

'By this point I've figured out there's very little I can do to help myself with you.'

 

'I'm not that much of a hard head.'

 

Prompto just looks at Noctis until the dark haired prince huffs.

 

'As you've just demonstrated, I have my reasons. Like, for instance, what the hell is in your room that means you won’t let anyone in?'

 

The somewhat relaxed demeanor Prompto had sunk into shatters in an instant, folding into itself. 'I just need my own space.'

 

'But it's suspicious, you have to admit.'

 

'So you'd be happy sharing literally everything with everyone all the time?'

 

'Well... when there’s good reason… I’d understand.'

 

'Everything? Every second? Knowing everyone is watching you, waiting for you to make a move? You wouldn't find that uncomfortable at all?'

 

Noctis shuffles on the spot a moment. 'I guess I would. But, you have to understand our perspective -'

 

'And you have to understand mine. When you trust me, Noctis, then I will show you what is in my room.'

 

There is a telling pause. 'I'm not sure I can do that.'

 

'Then I suppose my evil plans will forever remain a mystery to you.'

 

Disheartened, Prompto pushes away from the wall and makes to leave the corridor. To his back, Noctis calls, 'I'll play you for them.'

 

Prompto stops and looks back, raising a questioning eyebrow.

 

'You're evil plans. I'll play you. King's Knight; I win, you tell me your evil plans.'

 

'And if I win?'

 

Noctis shrugs, looks around the corridor, and fails to come up with any good ideas. 'I guess you get to continue with said plans safe in the knowledge that I don't have a clue.'

 

And then, a breath of relief washes through Noctis – something he didn't know he'd been waiting for but was relieved to finally feel – because Prompto laughs, a soft surprised snort, more in the smile than the sound. Despite having heard it only twice, Noctis is quickly coming to learn it is one of the best sounds in the world. 'Sure. Just stop by my lair any time, I guess.'


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry it's just a short chapter. this is me, endeavouring to fight against my uni schedule and writers block 
> 
> i'm posting it before i get the chance to rethink how much i'm not a huge fan (especially of the link, or lack thereof, between this chapter and the last)

 

‘That’s it. No best of five, definitely no best of ten. I win. This is the part where you tell me your evil plan.’

 

Prompto drops his phone, letting it bounce away on the sofa. Noctis is staring at him, glaring really, body slouched over the arm of the chair having relaxed throughout their three games. ‘Can I just point out that best of ten wouldn’t be a thing. The point is to not allow a draw – ’

 

‘You’re stalling.’

 

If the world were kind to him, this would be the moment where some interruption would find them. For all he’s been hoping to spend real time with the Lucien prince, Prompto would snatch the opportunity to escape this conversation with clambering hands.

 

Their games had been fun. Though awkward at first, with Noctis having followed him back from the museum corridors, their mutual skill lead them quickly in to a banter-fueled competitiveness. In such a bubble, time passed quickly, and though conversation was sparse, the silence and concentration only seemed to work in their favour.

 

Yet now, the bubble is collapsing around them.

 

Prompto puffs out his lungs, makes sure to stare with all seriousness into Noctis’ eyes, and says, ‘chocobos.’

 

First surprise, and then confusion, communicated in the rise and fall of Noctis’ eyebrows.

 

‘I plan to slowly convert each an every chocobo in Lucis until all are under my telepathic control. Once this first objective has been met, I shall amass them outside the city walls and have them run riot through the streets. Screams shall echo through these palace halls, feathers drown every chamber. You shall run around in desperation, incapable of fighting against such randomized tactics. And when you become truly, truly desperate, I shall have you bow down to me and beg for my controlling hand over Insomnia. Lucis shall become a beacon of Chocobean society, with myself on the golden steed at the country’s head.’

 

There’s a moment where Noctis sits with his mouth hanging open, flabbergasted. He straightens in his seat, searches the room with his eyes, and finally settles his gaze back on his husband. ‘You’re a weird kid, aren’t you?’

 

Prompto shrugs with pride.

 

‘Okay, so, now I’ll have your actual plan, please.’

 

‘Who said that wasn’t one of my actual plans?’

 

‘It’s ridiculous.’

 

‘So’s the concept of magical crystals with favouritism issues, when you think about it.’

 

‘That’s not how it works.’

 

Prompto stares blankly.

 

Eventually, Noctis sighs, slouching back in his seat. ‘So how many evil plans do you have?’

 

Prompto smirks, shakes his phone in Noctis’ face. ‘Wouldn’t you like to know.’

 

*-*

 

The moment after adrenaline has kicked you off the cliff edge, and you’re falling, and its beautiful and thrilling and so very _alive_ , and you think – _why was I ever afraid of this, why was I ever stood on the edge of that cliff, staring down and wanting to be anywhere else. I wish I could fly like this, fall like this, forever._

And the moment where you come to do it again, and you’re standing on that same cliff, but your world has shifted right back to where you used to be, and you’re just as afraid as always. Nothing has changed, and the space between yourself and the ground is still the enemy of your nerves, just as it always used to be.

 

It’s like that, when Prompto faces the prospect of seeing Noctis again.

 

Because Gladio and Ignis have come and gone – sly smiles and knowing looks communicating that Prompto doesn’t have to say anything about why he was busy yesterday – yet there’s someone knocking at the door.

 

_At least I’m dressed_ , he thinks, smoothing down his faded t-shirt.

 

Noctis is leaning against the opposite wall when Prompto opens the door, eyeing up the guards either side. His hands are slipped into the pockets of his black combat trousers, and his plain black t-shirt is slightly stretched at the neckline, slipping low to reveal a hint of collarbone. The other prince makes no immediate moves to come in, so Prompto slouches against the doorframe and crosses his arms.

 

‘I didn’t know if you’d come back.’

 

‘Neither did I… I… felt like I shouldn’t.’

 

‘So why did you?’

 

Noctis shrugs one shoulder. ‘I guess… I had fun.’

 

‘I guess I’m glad to hear that.’

 

‘I didn’t think I would. I owe Gladio twenty gil now.’

 

‘You could always play me for it.’

 

‘Nah,’ scoffs Noctis, finally pushing away from the wall and walking through the doorway, brushing Prompto’s arm as he passes, ‘I’m still planning on collecting those evil plans of yours, mastermind.’

 

*-*

 

Noctis’ brief spurt of confidence dies as soon as he’s standing inside Prompto’s lair. And lair it is, really, because it’s strangely homely. There’s stacks of books and movies, polaroids scattered on surfaces and walls. Blankets and cushions, a rug that looks like it’s made from more colours than there are in the colour spectrum itself.

 

He ends up standing in the middle of the lounge, just off to the side of the room with the balcony. He absorbs the details he hadn’t thought to acknowledge the first time he was here, too distracted as he was by his paranoia. As hard as he may try not to let them, Noctis can feel his walls slipping.

 

Finally, he turns and sees Prompto shifting around in the entrance hall, staring at Noctis as though awaiting some sort of verdict.

 

Neither is quite sure how to break the silence.

 

‘You were on a horse,’ Noctis bursts out, unexpectedly. He closes his eyes and tries not to burn himself red with embarrassment.

 

‘I’m… what?’

 

‘On the day we… On our… When you arrived at the ceremony, you came up to the palace on a… horse. But then the other day, you were going on and on about chocobos. So… I figured at the time that you must have had like, an allergy or something. Or maybe you just really didn’t like chocobos. But then… you want to rule them. Or you want to rule humans, using chocobos.’ Noctis is very aware that he is rambling. ‘I don’t know. The point is, you were on a horse and I was wondering why?’

 

Prompto is cocking an eyebrow at Noctis when the latter is finally capable of meeting the other prince’s eye again. ‘Well…’ he begins, stepping forward with each enunciated word until he’s in the same room, standing by the sofa, ‘it wasn’t exactly my decision. My father considered chocobos to be… common. Which I suppose, relatively speaking, they are. I know what I’d have rather had, but, well, I don’t know about you, but my preferences weren’t exactly acknowledged. At least… not with the horses.’

 

‘So your father made you ride a horse because… it was…’

 

‘Fancy,’ Prompto finishes, curling his mouth around the word with explicit disdain. After a beat: ‘he and I rarely saw eye to eye.’

 

There is so much more depth to what Noctis is hearing than he has prepared himself for. He’s not sure whether he wants to crush or encourage the large part inside his mind screaming _you’re being manipulated_. Because he’s a prince, and he can’t afford to be tricked by spun tales of estranged sons. But dammit, Prompto is just _nice_.

 

Noctis wanders over to the sofa beside Prompto, eyes on the ground but attention on the dark door stretching in the far corner of the room – closed, and likely locked, as usual. He curls his fingers into the fabric of the chair, focuses on the pull of the upholstery against his skin.

 

Finally, once he has managed to silence the war within him, even if it rages on soundlessly like an old film playing on loop inside his soul, Noctis asks, ‘best of three?’

 

Even if the awkwardness never quite leaves, but hovers, like a thick mist in the air, at least Prompto smiles when he says, ‘sure.’

 

*-*

 

Prompto can’t decide if he gets to stand on that cliff edge far too often, or far too little.

 

He doesn’t get used to it, doesn’t know if he ever will, the way the world wraps itself up in the sound of knocking on the door, the way the prospect of opening it feels like taking hold of the sky and promising he’s strong enough not to drop it. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever get used to the fact of Noctis Lucis Caelum.  

 

It’s because the boy is a prince, Prompto tells himself. It’s probably the same for everyone when they meet him. Who wouldn’t be nervous, constantly, around a boy as powerful as he? What does it matter if Prompto is meant to be a prince too? They still come from very different worlds.

 

So Prompto plays it safe, doesn’t push his luck, both hopes and fears every time Noctis leaves that Noctis will come back.

 

Come back he does, sometimes most days in a week, sometimes only once or twice. He doesn’t speak of where he’s been, what he’s been doing, and occasionally Prompto still sees this paranoia in the tight set of his shoulders. But as time passes, ever the quicker with Prompto’s ever fuller days, Noctis settles easier into the cushions, smiles a little quicker, a little wider at Prompto’s jokes. And the sky is lighter.

 

So maybe the night is still a little too heavy in the darkness of his bedroom. So maybe the voices in his head are still a little too loud sometimes, and the reflections in the windows demons in themselves.

 

So maybe it’s still impossibly hard sometimes. Slowly, it’s becoming worth it.

 

*-*

 

Noctis doesn’t always win, but they play a lot of games, so statistically speaking, it’s not surprising that the prince learns of many “evil plans”. The ones Noctis remembers are sometimes entertaining, sometimes disappointing (Prompto is usually tired on these days, not that he is willing to tell the prince why), or sometimes downright strange.

 

Some examples:

  * A serum that will turn each member of the royal household into a different (but always disturbing) colour of Cactuar. Prompto will, of course, hold the only cure and require the throne before he is willing to cure anyone.
  * A plot to highjack every radio station within Lucis and play various remixes of the chocobo racing theme on repeat until the national anthem is changed to praise Prompto’s skill and prowess in all areas of life (this one included an acapela edition, performed with full confidence – if slightly out of tune – on top of the coffee table. Noctis may have recorded it on his phone. He may also watch it more often than is strictly normal).
  * (And one night, after a great deal of whisky to dissolve the constant mist of awkwardness) A plan to convince a handsome prince to run away with him, because frankly Prompto is so done with all the ruling bullshit and just wants a nice guy to take him somewhere where there’s flowers. (Noctis doesn’t know what to say to this, doesn’t know how to translate the twinge in his beating heart. Thankfully he is saved, because in the next moment Prompto is snoring, and Noctis lets himself out because he should have left hours ago, should never have brought that damn whisky in the first place, and what is he doing, fraternizing with the enemy. Because he can feel it happening. Slowly, but surely, like the inevitable rising of the sun.



 

Prompto is becoming his friend.)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so here it is. ~the~ scene.

 

“ – and then Iggy goes, _I really had set my money on the top left banana_.’

 

The four on the sofas laugh, perhaps more at Gladio’s attempt at mimicking Ignis’ voice than anything in the story. Noctis’ laugh is this quiet thing in the corner, but Prompto’s is loud, bouncing off the walls. Noctis watches Prompto dunk another chip in Ignis’ homemade dip, carelessly shoving it in his mouth, stumbling over the mouthful in his desperation to blurt out some new joke he’s just thought of.

 

Ignis’ phone rings.

 

The room is no less quiet for Ignis’ absence during the call, but when he walks back into the lounge there’s this way the silence falls, like a sudden settling of snow over night in the winter. You wake up, and suddenly the world is blanketed in it.

 

Prompto wakes up from this – the laughter, the smiles, this feeling that maybe, just maybe he’s getting somewhere with these people he likes so very much – and Ignis won’t meet his eyes.

 

Ignis picks up the remote and switches the channel on the television. ‘Your father apologises for not getting in touch about this sooner. Things have, unsurprisingly, turned hectic.’

 

Noctis isn’t listening. Noctis isn’t breathing. Noctis is trying to wake up so the image on his eyes will dissolve. The headline simply reading:

 

NIFLHEIM INVADES TENEBRAE

 

The sound of glass breaking, shattering against the carpet with the force by which it is dropped – no, thrown.

 

Before Noctis has a chance to move his glance from Prompto’s now empty hand to his face, the blond is turning, running, forcing the lock to his room open and throwing himself inside. He yanks the door closed behind him with such a force that the door bounces, leaving it open by the slightest crack.

 

Noctis turns back to the news story, manages to watch in a calm that’s all numbness. And then, he snaps.

 

He stalks into Prompto’s room in a blind rage, unseeing of anything between him and the shadow of a liar cowering against the wall. Prompto is looking nowhere and everywhere at once, but Noctis doesn’t bother trying to translate the expression on his face. He fists his hands in the collar of Prompto’s t-shirt and pushes him up against the wall.

 

‘THEY HAVE LUNA! ALL THOSE PEOPLE – THEY – YOU HAVE LUNA! YOU FUCKING, TRAITOROUS LIAR! ALL THAT TALK OF PEACE – ’

 

‘ _I didn’t know! I swear! It wasn’t – I promise – I didn’t –_ ’

 

‘Noct, stop it! Noctis! Let him go!’

 

‘SO THIS WAS YOUR PLAN ALL ALONG, HUH? CONVENIENT FUCKING TIMING – ’

 

‘Noct, you’re gonna hurt the kid, c’mon – ’

 

‘ _Noctis, please –_ ’

 

‘HOW THE FUCK IS THIS FAIR? YOU PROMISE A PEOPLE PEACE, TRAP THEM INTO IT – HOW IS THIS PLAYING THE GAME FAIR?’

 

Gladio manages to yank Noctis off of Prompto just as the smaller boy breaks, stops begging and starts yelling, and Noctis is left staring in the face of it through the darkness.

 

‘YOU WANT TO TALK ABOUT _FAIR_? YOU THINK YOU KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT WHAT’S _FAIR, PRINCE NOCTIS_? HAVE YOU STOOD IN THE FACE OF IT? STARED DOWN THEIR CREATURES AND KNOWN JUST HOW MUCH OF THOSE MONSTERS ARE INSIDE OF YOU? And then to be told that you’re just not good enough to be a part of that hell? You’re right, it’s not fair. Nothing in this world fucking is, but your life is too fucking perfect so far for you to realise. You think I have something to do with this, fine. Think what you fucking like. It’s not like anything is going to change. Nothing here is ever going to change. But for what it’s worth…’ Prompto breaks, is whispering by now, falling back against the wall. ‘For what it’s worth… I didn’t know. I didn’t know.’

 

Noctis comes back to himself first at the point where Ignis’ hand is wrapped around his arm, attempting to tug him away from Prompto. Then, he becomes aware of the man murmuring in his ear, telling him to _stop, to calm down, to be rational_ , but the voice is preoccupied. Prompto’s mumblings descend into quiet sobs, and the boy fully collapses against the wall and curls down to the floor.

 

Noctis takes a step back but stops at the pinch of pain in the soles of his feet.

 

‘Careful,’ says Ignis, ‘try not to move too much.’

 

Across the room, Gladio yanks the curtains open with a grunt and the world breaks apart.

 

Where once huge frames hung, scratches drag the walls to the floor. Scraps of fabric and feathers scatter the room, making all the breakages – at a glance – seem so much softer than they are underneath. Most of the furniture is broken, draws pulled from their bases and the posts of the bed missing somewhere in the mess. The carpet is scattered with mirrored glass, and it’s this, the shattered reflection of his own being amongst the bloody pieces that brings Noctis truly back to himself.

 

But with the return of his mind, he loses his body, and he cannot move for the shock of it.

 

Gladio walks back over from the windows, careful with every step despite wearing thick-soled boots, and ducks down beside Prompto. The boy doesn’t raise his head even as Gladio rests a hand on his shoulder and begins murmuring something too quiet for Noctis to hear.

 

Noctis swallows and turns to Ignis, the other man still at his side. ‘What is this?’

 

‘This,’ says Ignis, but he runs out of words afterwards.

 

Gladio rises and turns to his two friends, shaking his head very slightly, frowning. He begins to walk out of the room, stops by Ignis, looks around, eyes catching on every sharp broken point, thinks back on saying anything, and continues to walk out of the room instead.

 

Prompto is left alone on the floor, fingers gripped tight over his head, so small against the thatched beast of his own chaos.

 

*-*

 

Somewhere along the way the line of the sun through the window rises further up the wall, and Prompto stops shaking, then stops crying, then stops doing anything at all.

 

Noctis waits, sitting crossed legged in front of the blond as around them the room is slowly cleared. There’s a nagging thought in the back of his mind that there are bigger things going on in this world that he should worry about. But then, the person in front of him might just be the thing to offer some answers.

 

Eventually, Prompto lifts his head, a flat glance flashing between the floor and Noctis. Noctis reaches out and takes one of Prompto’s limp hands, unfolding the fingers to reveal the smattering of old scrapes in the skin. He traces the taut healed lines with a finger of his own, the way they disrupt everything from the fingerprints through to the blue lines of veins against the border of the wrist. They’re so light, barely scars, but just looking a tiny bit closer reveals so much.

 

Noctis opens his mouth to speak, but thinks better of it. Prompto closes his hand into a fist and pulls it back into his chest.

 

*-*

 

In the main room, Noctis pulls Gladio over to the side, leaving Ignis to carry on orchestrating the clean up. Prompto is still curled in the bedroom.

 

‘Do you think,’ he asks, ‘we could maybe see about moving Prompto in with me?’

 

Gladio’s eyebrows shoot up and he blinks a few times. ‘Wait, what?’

 

‘My suite’s big enough that we can convert one of the rooms into another bedroom, right?’

 

‘Well, yeah. I guess so. But… why?’

 

Noctis gestures towards the bedroom.

 

‘Nah. You were practically strangling the guy less than half an hour ago. This isn’t altruism.’

 

Noctis sighs, crosses his arms across his chest. ‘Okay, fine. So we don’t know what the hell has been going on with him. Yeah, this is a worrying situation, but it could just as easily be a ploy – ’

 

‘Are you serious?’

 

‘Hear me out. What better way to get us on side than make himself out to be the victim? This way, I can keep a better, _personal_ , eye on him. We use his health as an excuse, but it also… makes it harder for him to hide shit. Y’know?’

 

‘Since when were you so paranoid?’

 

‘Since I was shacked up with the enemy.’

 

‘You’re beginning to sound like a broken record.’

 

‘Gladio, _please_. This is the perfect opportunity.’

 

‘That kid is hurting, Noct. This isn’t an “opportunity”.’

 

‘And all those people in Tenebrae? You think they’re not hurting too?’

 

‘Prompto isn’t his father.’

 

‘How do you _know_?’

 

Gladio is half way to a snapping reply before he realises… he doesn’t. A disturbance among the servants across the room has them both glancing away for a moment, and Gladio makes moves to check it out. Noctis grabs his arm to hold him back.

 

‘You and Iggy are always getting shitty at me for disregarding my duty, but now you’re nagging at me for actually paying attention.’

 

‘Actually, it’s your unusual regard for duty that convinces me you’re bullshitting.’ Gladio yanks his arm away but stops after a few steps. ‘But I’ll look into it.’

 

*-*

 

Prompto presses the bobble head down with his finger, releases it, watches the little smiley shake then shiver.

 

‘You really did bring over everything you could, didn’t you.’ His voice sounds strange even to his own ears. Dry.

 

‘I… wanted you to feel at home.’

 

Prompto’s laugh is something disjointed. ‘Home?’

 

‘Maybe that was a bad choice in wording.’

 

Prompto wanders further around the room, hand brushing the bits and pieces that were salvaged from his suite. He didn’t realise just how much stuff he had gathered over previous months until it was all piled in one room. At the rooms centre is a large, low sunken bed, covered in pillows and black patterns. It is so much more modern, more minimalist than the golden embellished walls of the rest of the palace. He let himself collapse back onto the sheets. ‘I suppose you had it all searched?’

 

Noctis winces.

 

‘Its all been ruined, hasn’t it,’ Prompto whispers, more to the ceiling than the other prince.

 

‘For, uh, what it’s worth. I believe you.’

 

‘You believe me?’

 

‘That you didn’t know.’

 

There’s a pause, and then a sudden burst of movement from the boy on the bed as he sits up, back straight. ‘Can I talk with you guys? You, and Ignis and Gladio?’

 

‘Talk?’

 

‘I… have something to say. I don’t know, I wouldn’t call it an idea, as such. Just…’

 

‘Yeah, sure. We can talk.’

 

*-*

 

‘Don’t worry, you don’t have to… tell me anything.’ Prompto makes eye contact with each of the three men across from him, all looking more intimidating than they ever have so far. ‘I know you guys have been busy with… everything that has been going down, and that I’m the last person you’d want to know anything about all that. At least, with everything that you’ve been up to behind the scenes. But I stand by what I’ve said in the past. I want to help you.’

 

There’s a pause as the three men consider Prompto’s earnestness, but it is Ignis who says, ‘how?’

 

‘The whole point of our marriage was meant to be a symbol, right? Think of that picture the media loves of us in the chapel. You know the one, beneath the window? We are supposed to be a public sign of strength and unity – that peace will win out over war because of shared interest.’

 

‘That lasted long,’ Noctis interjects.

 

Prompto’s eyes glance over to him, but he shows no other real acknowledgment. ‘ _The point is_ that as a unit, we represent peace. The problem has been, ever since the wedding day itself, that the people don’t see us as a unit. Things have been very obviously tense between us from the start. Even… even as we got to know one another, you’re distant with me, Noct. Noctis. Especially in public. That needs to change.

 

‘With every divide the public see between our nations, the weaker our strength will be. The weaker you are, the easier it’ll be for Iedolas to take you down. I don’t want that to happen, I truly don’t.

 

‘I rarely associate myself with Niflheim. I stand by that. But the _people_ , the ones suffering just as much under that regime, always seemed to have this… bond with me. If my father represented power, I represented the people. And that’s how I can help you. I represent the people of Niflheim, and the _people_ stand with peace, the people stand with _Lucis._ The stronger we are, the weaker the power of Niflheim is over the brains of the people who are yet to bow down to them. We can’t let them divide us, we have to divide them.’

 

Noctis looks between his two friends, reading their reactions as much as they are reading his. Prompto watches, hands clenched with nervousness.

 

Ignis speaks first. ‘How can we trust you?’

 

Prompto releases his fists, flexes his fingers. ‘Short of locking me away again, what choice do you have?’

 

*-*

 

Prompto doesn’t expect to see Noctis after their discussion, but there he is, hovering in the doorway of his new bedroom, hands in pockets, shoulders slouched, just like always. He reaches to turn the lamp on but Noctis stops him with a gesture illuminated by the light of the moon. Prompto can’t figure out how the air falls, whether he should make a joke or an apology or what, so he stays silently watchful, letting Noctis lead.

 

After much consideration Noctis walks forward and lets the door softly shut behind him. He perches on the edge of the bed, first of all going to make himself comfortable and then reconsidering it.

 

‘My father,’ Noctis begins, talking to the window, ‘has spent many years trying to teach me how to be a good king. I have resisted a lot. I don’t… want it. The pressure. The responsibility. I care. I do. I care so much. But it is so hard. And I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to do what he does. No, no, please just – let me talk.

 

‘When I was a kid and I was with Luna I would always – and don’t laugh here, okay – I liked playing these little role-play games. I’d have a crown and a sword and this amazing, beautiful queen at my side. We’d be – _gods_ – we’d be a sight and a half to behold. And that’s what made the idea of it okay. The perfect pair to hold the world on their shoulders. Together. And now she’s –

 

‘It’s… difficult for me. Nothing is turning out the way it was supposed to. I don’t know if I’ll be able to pretend. Not like you want me to. I guess it’s just another one of those things where I haven’t got much of a choice.’

 

When Prompto is sure Noctis has finished he shuffles, turning towards the other, and asks, ‘is it my turn?’

 

Hesitantly, Noctis nods. Prompto can just make out the shadow of it in the dark as his eyes adjust.

 

‘My father spent many years trying to teach me to be the thing he wanted me to be. In the mean time, I’d much rather have been playing pretend. There was very little opportunity for that as a boy. As I… got older… there were girls. None of them were Luna, but he… he wanted me to be his savage bachelor of a son. There’s a certain sort of ruthlessness in the cliché, he thought.’

 

Prompto stops and Noctis isn’t quite sure if that’s the end of the story. ‘It seems funny that he’d send you here if that’s what he had in mind for you. Sounds like any guy’s dream, having girls thrown at you left and right.’

 

With the ever adjusting light, Noctis just manages to make out Prompto’s grimace. When the boy speaks again, it is so very quiet. ‘It wasn’t exactly my dream, Noctis. I don’t… I’m telling you this now because you need that from me. Honesty. You need to be able to trust me as much as you can, so, I’ll tell you what I can. I pretended, for a while. I tried, I really did. But… I don’t… like… girls. Not like that. You dreamed of ruling with Luna by your side? Well I grew up dreaming of my very own prince charming to come and take me away.

 

‘This whole marriage… Noct, who I am, the people I love, it was just one of the many things that made me a disappointment to him. He sent me here because… he likes the irony, Noctis. I get my very own prince charming, and he’d rather kill me than kiss me.’

 

‘There is a bigger picture here,’ says Noctis to the darkness, ‘than I am capable of seeing.’

 

Prompto doesn’t know what to say to that so he reaches out and rests his hand on top of Noctis’. In the silence, Noctis flips his hand over and entwines their fingers.

 

‘You worry about living up to your father’s reputation,’ says Prompto after a while, ‘but from what I’ve seen, you’ve got your own strengths going for you. And maybe that’s what this world is going to need. Not someone who can pretend, but someone who can stand up and finally give the world the truthful face of it. We are not our fathers, Noctis. And that’s probably for the best.’

 

‘Tomorrow we’re going to have to stand up on that stage and pretend. _I’m_ going to have to stand up on that stage and pretend. So how can you say that?’

 

‘So don’t stand up there with Your Husband the Prince of Niflheim. Stand up there with _me_ , Prompto, the guy who, I hope, at least, was almost your friend once. We are not the strangers we once were.’

 

Noctis stares at the shadow of Prompto in the dark. ‘You can be very wise, sometimes, y’know. And… for what it’s worth, I’m sorry.’

 

‘For what it’s worth?’

 

‘Your… room. The way you – you weren’t okay.’

 

‘That’s not on you. You weren’t to know. You did what you thought was best.’

 

‘But you were lonely. And you shouldn’t have been.’

 

‘Oh, Noctis. I don’t know any different.’

 

Noctis doesn’t know why that hits home with such a sharp force, but he closes his eyes so he doesn’t have to look into the reality of it. Then, he scoffs. ‘I can believe it. You’re here comforting me, when you’re the one who… ’

 

‘Don’t worry about me. I can look after myself.’

 

‘But what if you shouldn’t have to?’

 

‘What choice do I have? It’s a big day tomorrow, Noct. You should go get some sleep.’

 

Noctis doesn’t want to be dismissed so easily, but there is nothing else he has to say. So, he nods in the dark and slides off the bed, releasing Prompto’s hand. He stops only once more, just for a moment in the doorway before disappearing.

 

‘I don’t trust you, Prompto. But I want to.’


	6. Chapter 6

The crowd is quiet for its size, stretching down the city’s main boulevard in a mass of flags, lights and signs proclaiming _One Love_ and _Our Hearts are with Tenebrae_. They hold their breath collectively, awaiting the moment where the palace joins them in their vigil.

 

You can feel it, the way the shock rushes through the crowd in waves, struck dumb as Noctis emerges onto the hastily erected platform. With Prompto holding his hand.

 

Prompto can imagine the thoughts in the mass of glaring faces, the betrayal. Try as he might, he is still a symbol of the enemy. But today is the day that changes. Hopefully.

 

When Noctis reaches the podium he goes to release Prompto’s hand, but Prompto feels as Noctis tightens his grip just briefly, as though wishing he could keep hold of the support. Prompto stands close instead, at Noctis’ shoulder, close enough to see Noctis’ panicked breathing.

 

They have been over the short speech a thousand times this morning. Though Noctis stumbled a great deal at first, between the four of them they managed to create something the Lucien prince was happy enough to present. It is merely his stage fright now gripping him with tight claws.

 

‘Two days ago,’ Noctis begins, pausing to take a shaky breath, letting the opening echo through the city, ‘our world was shocked by yet another attack from the Nifilheim forces. Though Tenebrae is the first to be hit by the greedy hands of the west since the supposed peace agreements, the world as a whole suffers with them.

 

‘There are those of us who sit, safe in our homes, surrounded by our families; our wives, husbands, children, and though we need not quake at the fists against our door, it is our responsibility to stand with those who do not have such security. That is why over the coming weeks we shall endeavor to support Tenebrae in every way that we can. Refugees seeking to escape the brutality shall be welcomed with open arms. My husband and I are working to find flaws in the wall of the enemy through which we can transport supplies.’ A ripple works through the crowd at this, one of confusion, but also the slightest element of… happy surprise. ‘We shall take every move we can to support those willing to resist, and in doing so Lucis shall become a beacon of hope for a world that is losing, yes, but I promise, is not yet lost.

 

‘Peace, prosperity and friendship are our strongest weapons against an enemy that puts far too much faith in the sword. We can let no one stand in the way of that which is vital to human life, and our determination not just to survive, but also to _thrive_ , together. They wish to crush us, to crush our spirit. This betrayal of peace is merely yet another attempt to do so. We cannot let it happen. We will not let it happen. Lucis stands with Tenebrae. Lucis stands with peace. Lucis stands with _hope_.’

 

A cheer erupts through the crowd, cameras flashing and flags whipping in the wind. It had taken a lot to convince his father the speech should come from him, and the fear that he would mess it up releases with the realization that, in fact, it couldn’t have gone better. Let his father deal with the official press, with the board meetings and news interviews. With Prompto’s instruction, Noctis was going to become a man of the people.

 

Noctis takes a step back and Prompto is there, and in the slightest smile on his face Noctis can read the approval. And then in the smile’s fall, he can read the apology. As Noctis goes to wrap an arm around Prompto’s waist, as was agreed, the blonde steps up to the podium.

 

In the corner of his eye he sees his father’s stage managers step forward, terrified of what the Niff might be about to say. Much to his own surprise, Noctis waves them off and turns to watch, wondering where Prompto is taking this.

 

‘I am Prompto Argentum Aldercapt-Caelum, and I am the prince of Niflheim,’ Prompto begins, and Noctis winces. Not a good way to start, as the spattering of boos and jeers says from the crowd. For the most part, the crowd is as shocked silent as those behind stage. ‘Earlier this year, I married your Prince, and thus too became a prince of Lucis.’

 

There’s a pause, in which the crowd doesn’t really know how to react to this and Noctis can’t help but think whatever small amount of progress they’d made with integrating Prompto into society has just been burned alive.

 

‘I realise this puts you all in a difficult position. However, I have learnt throughout my marriage so far that a there is no better country than Lucis with which to ally myself. Your strength, your perseverance and your bravery are merely three of the multitude of attributes on which you people, _my_ people, can pride themselves upon.’ This brings a smattering of a cheer from the crowd. ‘Though these are attributes you would not wish to associate with Niflheim, I beg you to think on this: a mere decade ago, the west was scattered with countries populated by the brave, populated by the strong. Their countries have been invaded, but the people have gone nowhere. You stand by Tenebrae and their people? Good. But why stop there? This world is populated by the good, and though many have fallen under the hands of evil, they are still there, waiting to be pulled back to their feet. This can be done. This will be done. It is not yet too late, and together we _can_ save the world.

 

‘With this in mind, I have a few choice words for my father.’ Prompto searches quickly until he is making direct eye contact with a camera. And then, with a voice hard as steel and an expression of thunder, like nothing Noctis would have ever thought possible in the boy, he says, ‘you are not invincible, and _you underestimate us_.’

 

With this Prompto steps away from the mic, and the crowd erupts. Finally, almost as was the plan, Noctis wraps an arm around Prompto, although even he can feel how stiff the action is and worries about how unnatural it must look to the cameras. He is surprised when the blonde spins suddenly and clings to Noctis with a tight hug, face buried in Noctis’ neck. Though Noctis attempts to maintain his regal bearing, he folds his arms stiffly around Prompto, and tries not to think too much about how this will look in pictures.

 

*-*

 

‘I have to hand it to you, Noct,’ says Regis, ‘I’m impressed.’

 

A bubble of pride builds in Noctis, then bursts. ‘It was more Prompto, to be honest.’

 

‘Ah yes, his speech has certainly… made an impact. But I believe it was yours that lead the way.’

 

‘Oh yeah, I mean, uh, he wrote mine, too…’

 

Regis pauses, whisky half way up to his mouth, and eyes his son across the office. ‘Is that so?’

 

Noctis shrugs, shoulders curling in on himself. The posture suddenly reminds him of a certain blonde prince and he tries to shake out of it. ‘Yeah, it was all, sort of, his idea, I mean. Gladio and Iggy helped with the actual writing but Prompto had all these ideas and well... he’s pretty good at this stuff, I guess.’

 

‘Pretty good, indeed.’

 

‘Dad?’

 

‘The two of you are getting along better now, I take it?’

 

‘It’s complicated.’ Noctis sighs, bites his lip, and then stalks forward to take the leather chair opposite his father’s. ‘He’s not what I expected, but the thing is, now I don’t have a clue _what_ he is.’

 

There’s a pause in which Regis pours another glass of whisky and hands it to his son. Noctis is more thankful for having something to do with his hands. ‘You have moved in together, I hear?’

 

Noctis raises an eyebrow at the phrasing, but his father’s eyes are for once steady and deeply serious. ‘If you heard that, then you also heard why.’

 

‘I did.’

 

‘Does it… do you, like,’ Noctis takes a swig of his drink, wincing at the burn, even with the whisky watered down as it is. ‘Do you feel guilty?’

 

Regis’ turn to raise an eyebrow. ‘Should I?’

 

‘It was your rules that made him feel so alone.’

 

‘Sometimes, Noctis, we must take actions for which there are no easy solutions. I do not regret the approach I took towards him, for they were the actions of a king to a subject.’

 

‘Then why do I feel so bad?’

 

‘Because you are not his king, Noctis.’ The underlying words, _you are not his king, but you are his husband_ , go unspoken, but still hit like a kick in the teeth. Noctis tries not to flinch, but when his father speaks again, his voice is softer. ‘You say you feel… bad. Is that why you took him in?’

 

‘No, I…’ Noctis takes another drink and falls into silence.

 

‘You are not yet a king, Noct. You’re not even really an adult, not yet. And one thing for which I do feel guilt is throwing you into a role for which you are no where near ready.’

 

‘I’m ready – ’

 

‘No Noctis, you are not. And I wouldn’t expect you to be.’ Regis looks away, watches the ticking clock instead of his son, and Noctis sees the shift as he turns from father into king. Things were getting too close to personal there, and it’s no surprise that they are both running away. ‘All the same, we must play the hand that we are dealt. Now that you are in this role, Prompto’s actions today show that we cannot afford to waste your sacrifices.’

 

‘What are you getting at here, dad?’

 

‘My words earlier were not empty compliments. I truly am impressed by the reaction the two of you garnered from your words, and even especially the way you played your interactions with one another.’ Noctis was yet to look at the media fall out, but it seems that yes, even Prompto’s hug was highly calculated. ‘I was wondering how you would feel about taking more active roles in the lime light over the coming weeks, as a pair. If Prompto is really willing to use his past against his homeland, it could be a very effective tool for morale.’

 

‘That’s what he said,’ Noctis murmurs.

 

Regis’ smile is tight. ‘Smart boy. You can take your time to think it over, if you like.’

 

Noctis closes his eyes and rests his head back against the chair, remembering the sight of Prompto with bright, determined eyes: _we can’t let them divide us, we have to divide them._

 

‘No need,’ he tells his father, ‘this is exactly what Prompto wanted.’

 

*-*

 

The best way Noctis can think to describe the atmosphere as he returns to his rooms is as an air of… celebration. It is a strange, mutated type, with the shadow of the falling Tenebrae hanging over them, but the day feels like a battle won.

 

Even knowing Prompto is going to be there now, unavoidable and inescapable, isn’t the same worry it was only that morning. Something shifted when Noctis watched him on that stage, glaring at the idea of his father with genuine hatred. Suspicion is still there, shifting and writhing like a sea creature underneath the surface. But it’s a sunny day, and the waves are calm, and maybe just for today Noctis doesn’t have to be so preoccupied with that creature.

 

Ignis, Gladio and Prompto are already in his lounge when he returns from his meeting with his father. Prompto has changed from his suit into sweats and a tank top, making it hard for Noctis to reconcile the two people in his head. When Prompto notices him enter, he beams, a grin full of genuine joy and for the first time Noctis realizes that maybe he doesn’t want to reconcile them. Prompto-in-a-Suit is going to have to start embracing his Niflheim past – something Noctis had slowly been watching the blonde try to escape in the privacy of their almost-friendship – but maybe Prompto-with-Messy-Hair-and-Sweat-Pants doesn’t have to be something so political. Maybe he can just be Prompto, and he can keep doing this thing to Noctis’ insides with every smile.

 

‘Check it out,’ Prompto beams, lifting his laptop screen to show Noctis the article even though the other is obviously too far away to read it, ‘we’re everywhere.’

 

‘Joy,’ Noctis mutters, heading to the kitchen to get a snack.

 

When he comes back into the room he drops down onto the opposite end of the sofa from Prompto. All three of the others are at it, browsing the news and laughing over their success. The people are taken with it. There are certain details that preoccupy the more professional sites, namely Noctis’ promises of action and aid, but what really dominates is the video of Prompto, glaring into the camera. He might as well have declared war on his homeland.

 

Well, Noctis realizes, maybe not in so many explicit words, but Prompto practically did.

 

‘So it worked,’ Noctis says, ‘everyone loves you and my dad wants us in front of the cameras at every opportunity.’

 

‘Really?’ Prompto actually looks surprised at this, so Noctis cocks an eyebrow, silently questioning. Prompto shrugs. ‘I had hoped, but honestly, I thought it would take more than this.’

 

‘Your words today were no light things, Prompto,’ says Ignis, ‘though we were successful in our endeavors, I urge us to remember that what you said will not go without repercussions.’

 

Prompto seems to dim a little. ‘I know. It’s a risk. But we have to take risks, otherwise… my father won’t attack directly, not yet anyway, and it’s not like it can get much worse for Tenebrae.’

 

Suddenly, just like that, it hits Noctis: _Luna_. Ice floods his veins, and all thoughts of adding to the conversation dissolve. Ignis and Prompto continue their discussion, but it’s all white noise to the Lucien prince. Gladio, on the armchair closest to him, frowns at Noctis.

 

‘You okay there?’

 

Noctis swallows, but it feels like he’s choking. ‘What if… what if they hurt Luna… in retaliation?’

 

The room falls silent, and everyone is watching Noctis.

 

‘They won’t,’ says Prompto, but his voice is shaky, not totally confident. ‘I know this sounds kinda bad, but… she’s too good a bargaining chip to risk. My dad’s overconfident, but he’s not an idiot. He won’t hurt Luna. _He won’t_.’

 

Noctis wishes he could believe it, wishes Prompto didn’t sound so much like he was trying to convince himself.

 

‘We’re gonna find ways to get stuff into Tenebrae, right?’ Gladio waits for Noctis to nod, so he knows the other boy is listening, ‘then we can find ways to get her out, too.’

 

Noctis is still a little choked, but he nods. When Prompto reaches across the sofa and rests a comforting hand on his arm, it actually manages to make him feel a bit better. He flashes a tight-lipped smile at the blonde in thanks, then shakes himself.

 

‘We did good though, right? I think we deserve pizza. Pizza and really shitty movies.’

 

Prompto grins, although it’s a paler edition to his earlier beam. ‘I would love nothing more.’

 

*-*

 

Late into the night, Noctis catches Prompto just as he’s about to head into his room. The lights have long been dimmed, and Noctis’ adjusted eyes see everything in a blue tinted monochrome.

 

‘Hey, so, uh – ’

 

Prompto turns, one hand still on the door handle. ‘You okay, Noctis?’

 

‘Actually, I was just wondering… Like I need to learn these things anyway, right? So, what was the point in the hug?’ Noctis can feel his cheeks heating, but he powers on as Prompto drops his hand from the door. ‘I get why we had to do _something_ , but why level it up, y’know?’

 

Noctis is surprised to find Prompto looking sheepish, mouth twisted into an almost smile and hand scratching at the back of his neck. After a touch of nervous laughter, he says, ‘uh, yeah, sorry about that…’

 

‘Sorry?’

 

‘I just… I’ve never stood up to my dad before. And now I essentially just yelled at him, threatened him, really, in front of the entire-freaking-world. I thought I was gonna cry, or throw up, I don’t know… You were there and… it was an… effective place to hide.’

 

‘To hide?!’

 

‘Do you really think me so fearless?’

 

‘Well… yeah. Have you seen yourself? You don’t bat an eye at anything. Going on that stage was nothing for you. And whenever we’re at events you behave like… like you belong. I don’t know. I guess I thought this was your thing.’

 

‘“this” being?’

 

‘… Politics.’ Noctis is fully aware that this is not necessarily true. He wants to say life. _Life_ is Prompto’s thing, terrible coping mechanisms notwithstanding.

 

Prompto chuckles at that, a dark, self-loathing thing. ‘I’d rather know how to handle real life, to be honest. If I was really as good as you give me credit for, or actually, even as evil as you want to give me credit for, well… we wouldn’t find ourselves here right now.’

 

Noctis swallows, licks his dry lips. ‘I’m glad we’re here.’ So maybe he keeps going ahead and surprising himself today.

 

Prompto reaches out and brushes his fingers against Noctis’ arm in a weird kind of thanks. Noctis is hyper aware of the contact and the very bones in his arms feel like they want to chase the touch once it’s gone. ‘Me too, Noct,’ Prompto says, and it takes Noctis a second to remember what Prompto is agreeing to.

 

By the time he is back in the present, Prompto has muttered his goodnight and disappeared into his room.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Couple of announcements:  
> \- i accidentally ship nyx/luna because of all the fics i've read where it shows up. I watched the first half of the movie once a long time ago... basically my point is if they're ooc then i'm sorry buttttt let's just go with it they're apparently now an accidental thing in this universe
> 
> -a few chapters from now the boys kinda got away from me and now i'm changing the rating from teen to mature... not a big leap but i feel like people deserve fair warning
> 
> also i'm yeLLING FOR REASONS AND I DON'T WANNA SPOIL ANYTHING BUT IF YOU KNOW THEN YOU ~KNOW~

Life moves quickly.

 

It’s hard to find space for self-hatred when Prompto just… doesn’t have the time to wallow in it.

 

It starts with clothing fittings, and his wardrobe rapidly expands. Not all of his new clothes are suits, but they are all perfectly fitted, stylish and appropriate for all the different events the two are shuffled around. Most importantly, they are all based around some form of white. If he is going to have any effect, he needs to have a brand.

 

Their first event after the speech is a fundraiser at the palace. Prompto wears a white shirt and a silver waist jacket that catches the light. Noctis wears the complimentary opposite, black shirt and grey waist jacket. Where Prompto wears a thin black tie, Noctis keeps his top buttons loose.

 

They stand beside one another in the full-length mirror and Noctis stares silently for the first moment, because they look good together. _Really_ good. Prompto grins when he catches Noctis’ eye and bumps their shoulders together. ‘You ready, hot shot?’

 

Once again surprising himself, Noctis returns with the closest approximation of a grin he can muster against his nerves. ‘Hell yeah.’

 

It goes well. They stick together, mingle through the crowd side by side, bring each guest on side with unexpected ease. Noctis’ favourite discovery is this: Prompto is funny. Really, truly funny. He is respectful in conversation, apart from the occasional anecdote perfectly chosen to appeal to the given audience. But it’s as they walk away that he’ll come out with some quick-witted snark remark that has Noctis choking on his drink.

 

Then, because they are only boys, and immature as hell, they make it into a game. The rules are simple: whoever laughs first, loses.

 

Noctis likes to think he makes a pretty good go of it. He almost catches Prompto at one point with an innuendo shot at an oblivious duke that goes over the elder man’s head but has Prompto excusing himself so as not to collapse into fits. But the blonde holds it together, just, and Noctis curses his luck.

 

Noctis loses, of course. But he doesn’t care because the night has flown by and the look of pride on Prompto’s face is from another world.

 

For the next event, it is Prompto’s turn to be nervous. This is it. They are going to leave the palace.

 

When Noctis knocks and enters, Prompto is fiddling with the collar of his shirt for the thousandth time, trying to decide to have it done up or loose. They are helping out at a food collection point for the day, gathering supplies to send to Tenebrae, so their clothing is a little more casual.

 

‘You okay?’

 

‘Fine,’ Prompto replies, in a tight voice that says he is decidedly not fine.

 

Noctis sighs and walks over. He brushes Prompto’s hands away and unclasps the button himself, shifting the collar around so it sits perfectly angled over the jumper. He’s sure Ignis will attempt to fix it yet again anyway, but he feels the way Prompto relaxes, loosens his bones. It has Noctis holding his hands still, pressed on Prompto’s shoulders. It is only once he realizes how close they are stood, with Prompto’s ragged breaths warming the skin of Noctis’ cheek that Noctis jerks away.

 

‘You’re going to do fine, Prom. Everyone seems to fall in love with you on sight. Today will be no different.’ There is a pause as what Noctis just said settles in the air. When it fully sinks in, though it is true, with memories of streaming guests enjoying the blonde’s presence, Noctis makes his escape with a muttered, ‘I’ll be waiting outside.’

 

Predictably, the day proves to be a smash hit with the people. Social media feeds are drowned with pictures and selfies, all usually with a grinning Prompto in the centre. Noctis is there, of course, but no one can deny that Prompto becomes the natural star of the show. Still, the Niflheim prince finds himself consistently gravitating back to Noctis, keeping him smiling as they haul donations backwards and forwards, give speeches into cameras and most importantly prove themselves to be the happy couple that they are.

 

It strikes Noctis in a quieter moment that it’s probably so easy to pretend because… he _is_ happy. With everything being treated as an act, he’s stopped dwelling so much on the idea of Prompto being his husband. Prompto is… Prompto. A colleague, of a kind. A flat mate, in some definitions. Almost, even, a friend.

 

Prompto, of course, is fascinated with the city. ‘It’s so different,’ he says.

 

‘Take it Niflheim isn’t quite the same?’ Noctis huffs as he shifts another box into the warehouse. Prompto, who so far throughout the day had been consumed by an unstoppable bouncing energy, is stood at the door of the warehouse staring up at the buildings, silhouetted in the bright light of day.

 

There is a quiet lull in the wearhouse, and it is just them, the noise of the crowd a distant thing out on the street. Even though Prompto’s reply is quiet, Noctis can hear it as though it is some ghostly echo. ‘I’ve heard that it used to be. Once.’

 

Success becomes habit with every new event, and as Prompto and Noctis learn their way around their act, the people learn their way around their new favourite royal couple.

 

They are both busy, no end of public appearances and duties, kept confined to the safety of the city, taking up most of their days. When Noctis trains back at the palace, keeping to his routine, even Prompto is taken into meetings to discuss what knowledge he has of the Niflheim forces. The blonde is worried, of course, insisting that the military action was never really his forte, as such, but Regis’ council insist that every little helps.

 

Noctis hopes, and knows, to be honest, that all of Prompto’s advice will be taken with a great deal of salt. But, well, yeah, every little does help, and besides they won’t trust Prompto’s word unproved. So where is the harm?

 

Prompto seems as equally exhausted by their activities as Noctis is – acting is hard – yet still, Noctis’ favourite moments are in their down time.

 

*-*

 

After their first few jobs, even the daytime ones, Prompto tends to disappear into his room. He eats the food taken to him, yes, but he keeps to himself.

 

It’s another one of these, Noctis thinks, when evening has come and dinner has passed and Prompto is curled up in his room, that he drops down onto the sofa and puts a movie on. Even before Tenebrae, before Prompto moved in, they spent more downtime together than this. Played more video games, watched more movies, laughed more where there weren’t cameras watching (though still, Noctis has never laughed more in his life than he has spending these past weeks with Prompto. It would just be nice to know it’s not an act coming from the blonde, too).

 

Fifteen minutes or so into the movie Noctis glances over at the shuffling of feet. Prompto is stood in the light of the lamp, slouched in a hoodie, t-shirt and sweat pants. His smile is shaky when he asks, ‘mind some company?’

 

‘Nah, come on down.’ Noctis shuffles over so he’s not taking up the whole sofa and Prompto curls into the furthest corner, as though trying to hide himself in the fabric.

 

Noctis wants to say it’s okay, Prompto’s more than welcome, he doesn’t have to try and shrink into nothing. But the air is awkward enough as it is, and Noctis can’t focus on the movie at all for all the things clawing their way up in his throat. So he says nothing and stares at the flickering screen, not absorbing a word.

 

The movie is a comedy, yet neither laughs once.

 

When it finishes, Prompto is already pushing himself out of his seat with mutterings about bed. Noctis jerks forward, although forces himself to slouch back into at least the appearance of carelessness.

 

‘Hey, so, I know it’s late, and you’re probably tired, but…’ Prompto turns back to Noctis when the other fades off. Noctis rallies his nerves, shrugs and says, ‘I’m not really in the mood to go to bed yet. You fancy playing some video games?’

 

There it is again, Noctis’ favourite little twitch of a smile. ‘Sure,’ Prompto says, and settles back into his corner. He’s still quiet, and it’s still awkward, but it’s progress.

 

*-*

 

Somewhere along the way, they regain what they lost when Noctis lashed out at Prompto over the invasion. Spending so much time together, it’s inevitable, really. But Noctis realizes that he wants it back, not just in front of the cameras, but behind the scenes things too: Prompto’s jokes, their mutual tastes in movies, and games and pretty much every thing, not to mention Prompto’s evil plans.

 

After the night of the movie, Prompto goes back to joining them for dinner. From dinner, it’s a short leap to Noctis suggesting they hang out. From there, it’s an even shorter distance to have them laughing over the day, the funny stories they experienced and the people they met. Things become… easier.

 

Slowly, Prompto stops hiding in the corner of the sofa. First he just sits normally, careful not to encroach on Noctis’ space. But they are both competitive, and as they lose themselves in the games it’s not hard for Prompto to forget himself, and then they are shoving at each other and laughing and the best part is that neither of them think about it too much.

 

One day, Prompto loses a particularly intense battle, so drama queen that he is, he makes a large show of throwing his controller away and collapsing onto Noctis. Noctis, distracted with laughter, doesn’t shove him away. By the time the laughter has faded Prompto is still sprawled on him.

 

Most surprising of all is that it’s… comfortable. They are tired, and Prompto looks like he’s already half asleep, curling up on Noctis’ shoulder.

 

Noctis laughs. ‘You’re like a puppy.’

 

‘I hope you realise that’s only a compliment.’

 

Rather than replying, Noctis puts some tv show on that they can watch absently, and lays back comfortably. He doesn’t even realise when he falls asleep, too.

 

When he wakes, the room is dark with night and he is cold. The television is off and Prompto has long since gone to bed, so Noctis shuffles off himself.

 

In the morning they don’t mention it, but mostly because it doesn’t feel like a thing that needs to be mentioned. It’s not weird, or strange, and Noctis doesn’t flush to think about it. It just is.

 

When Prompto springs into the small dining area he slings an arm around Noctis’ shoulder and swipes a slice of toast. ‘Morning,’ he grins, against a mouthful of bread. Noctis watches as his expression collapses into one of disgust, and for a moment Noctis thinks Prompto might actually go to spit it out. Instead, the blonde forces himself to swallow with a grimace. ‘Jeeze, Noct, how much sugary shit can you put on one bit of bread?’

 

‘This, my friend,’ says Noctis, presenting his amalgamation of nutella, jelly and peanut butter, ‘is a work of art.’

 

Ignis, turning the page of his news paper across the table, murmurs, ‘there’s cereal in the kitchen.’

 

‘Thanks, Iggy.’ Prompto bounds off.

 

As soon as he has left the room, Ignis raises his head to catch Noctis’ eye. ‘“Noct”?’

 

Noctis shrugs, and takes another bite of toast.

 

*-*

 

It stops getting so dark.

 

When Prompto laughs, it’s real. He doesn’t remember laughing so much in his life. His stomach hurts with it, but it’s a good hurt, well worth the pain. Sometimes, when he’s lying in bed at night, he tests out his smile, and it doesn’t ache anymore. It’s not an uncomfortable, lying stretch of skin. It’s natural. Real.

 

Happy.

 

So maybe there are still days. Shadows don’t just… go away. But now he has distractions, tasks, duties. And on the off times, there’s Noctis. Noctis who is naturally grouchy but laughs at Prompto’s jokes. Noctis who has the perfect taste in everything. Noctis, who, for all Prompto can see, seems to genuinely want the blonde boy around.

 

So yes, there are still dark days. But instead of hiding in his room, letting the darkness in his soul consume him, he goes to Noctis. And maybe Noctis has no idea of the monsters still clawing around Prompto’s head, but it doesn’t matter, because Noctis doesn’t even have to try to make it better, he just does.

 

Noctis; Prompto’s Prince Charming.

 

*-*

 

They’re at a more corporate affaire. It’s late evening, and from the top of the penthouse the walls of windows frame the city and the distant palace. Noctis isn’t fully aware of what’s going on, buzzed on champagne and little pizza canapés (this is the first time an event has put normal food along side salmon and caviar. Noctis could cry with happiness).

 

It doesn’t matter that he’s not with it, though, because Prompto is keeping their little group entertained. The blonde is stood at his side, waving his glass about enthusiastically as he tells another anecdote that has the suits laughing. Noctis’ eyes keep getting distracted by the tailored blazer Prompto is wearing, the way it emphasizes his slim figure. Prompto is filling out again nicely. Gladio has been taking Prompto on trips to the palace gym, so combined with Ignis’ cooking, Prompto has this healthy glow back to him again.

 

Prompto catches him looking and grins back.

 

‘Ah, it is unfortunate that we do not have a dance floor tonight then, isn’t it, Prince Noctis?’

 

Noctis jerks as everyone’s attention turns to him. He couldn’t even say which of the anonymous suits had been talking. Thankfully, Prompto comes to the rescue with a laugh. ‘I’m not sure I could get him back on the dance floor if I tried.’

 

Everyone chuckles, as though that’s the end of the conversation, but before he can stop himself Noctis says, ‘I would like to dance.’

 

As good an actor as he is, Prompto can’t hide his surprise. ‘I thought you hated dancing.’

 

‘Yeah, because I can’t dance. If I knew how, I’d dance with you.’ There’s this pause in which Noctis shrugs uncomfortably and says, around a sip of champagne, ‘I know you like dancing.’

 

It’s Noctis’ smile, the real smile, and Prompto nudges his side with his shoulder and says, ‘then maybe I’ll have to teach you.’

 

Noctis doesn’t know what he’s doing. There are no cameras here, and this is only a small group of corporate people of interest. It’s hardly important for them to put on such an act right now.

 

But it’s practice, right? So he doesn’t think about it too much, doesn’t stop, when his arm instinctively rises to pull Prompto closer and rest around his hip. ‘I guess you will.’

 

*-*

 

‘Will you tell the prince?’

 

Gladio huffs as he drops the bar, weights clanging through the empty training room. Loose strands of hair hang in his face and he blows them away, shoving his hair back, before answering. ‘Probably not.’

 

He turns to face Nyx who leans against the wall, arms crossed loosely over his jacket. ‘You sure that’s a good idea?’

 

‘Right now, he’s distracted. It’s playing on him, yeah, but…’ Gladio pulls his towel off his shoulders and wipes sweat from his forehead. ‘I mention this to him, he’s gonna think about nothing else for days. We can’t afford that, not right now, not with everything going down on the border. He’s not going to be able to keep the act up, and this act… we need it. They’re both being watched. We can’t have the Niffs getting suspicious, especially if we want the plan to work. Stealth is key.’

 

‘Hey, it’s my plan. You don’t have to remind me.’

 

Gladio snorts and throws his towel down on the bench, taking up a water bottle instead. Rather than drink, he opens the lid and stares into the water.

 

‘That’s some heavy introspection there for someone with so much muscle.’

 

Gladio shrugs, and finally drinks.

 

‘Gil for your thoughts?’

 

‘They’re not gonna be what you want to hear.’

 

‘Hit me anyway.’

 

Gladio smirks. ‘Nah man, you hit back way too hard.’

 

Nyx shoots Gladio a baleful look but waits, expectant. Gladio meets his stare head on.

 

‘You really think you can do it? You think you can save her?’

 

‘I think I can, or I can die trying.’

 

‘That’s not exactly comforting, Nyx. If she dies, Noctis will… I dread to think.’

 

Nyx pushes himself off the wall and rests his hands on Gladio’s shoulders, squeezing. ‘You’re a friend, Gladio. A good one. Both to me and to the kid. So here’s what you gotta remember, as bad as it sounds. I’m not going to save Luna for Noctis. I’m doing it because it’s _Luna_. Me and her, we…’

 

‘I know,’ Gladio murmurs, bring a hand up to squeeze Nyx’s.

 

‘They’re not empty words. I will bring her back. Or I will die trying. Because I’m not doing it out of some patriotism – which we all know has its limits. I’m doing this for me, and it just so happens the prince cares too. In the meantime, you keep that kid of ours on track, ‘kay?’

 

Gladio nods, drags Nyx into a hug, all muscle and back slapping. ‘When you get to her, tell Luna we all say hi.’

 

Nyx smiles, all determination. ‘Will do.’


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> friendly reminder that i've wrapped canon details up in a ball and thrown them out the window so let's not think too much about the time-line of the war or literally any other in-game legitimate plot

 

Noctis, as much as he hates it, gets used to seeing himself on the internet, on the news, on the front page of everything. At least he’s not alone in it. Prompto’s got his back the whole way.

 

Ignis tends to gather the important stuff for them to glance over, so they can keep evaluating their tactics and make changes where necessary. These conversations are mostly between Ignis and Prompto however, with Noctis agreeing half-heartedly to the final conclusions.

 

Noctis, sprawled on the sofa by Prompto one morning, knows something’s up because Ignis walks slowly into the room, each step considered a thousand times, when usually he’s already a thousand steps ahead with his plans. He won’t look Prompto’s way, but holds his hand out to Noctis for the television controller. As he changes the channel he drops the stack of newspapers down on the table with a jarring slap. If he weren’t suddenly so worried, Noctis would have been laughing at Prompto, who in confusion of the sudden noise had left milky remnants of cereal dribbling down his chin, spoon half way in the air.

 

Iedolas is on the television screen and Prompto drops everything, cereal and milk spilling over his pajamas, on the sofa, on the carpet. Noctis sees what the boy is going to do, remembers the last time Prompto was faced with something he didn’t want to see. Noctis is already up, yanking Prompto back by his t-shirt when the boy tries to run.

 

Prompto stumbles back, collapses onto Noctis where they both tumble onto the sofa, and Noctis wraps his arms around Prompto to keep him there in a bears grip. Prompto is shaking so Noctis whispers soothing nothings in Prompto’s ear, eyes fixed on the tv over Prompto’s shoulder, until Iedolas starts talking, at which point they both fall into a statuesque silence, eyes fixed.

 

‘With the fall of the final defenses at Fenestala Manor, I am honoured to announce that Tenebrae is one large step closer to fully allying itself under our great banner, the flag of Niflheim. This war is not easy, but the day has been won. We, as a community, as a world, are one step closer to fulfilling the legacy of Solheim.

 

‘Though times are hard, and we struggle on as a people, I urge those out there who still seek to argue against me to recognise the hope that we represent. You may have heard the words of my own son, my own flesh and blood, speaking against me, urging lies of retaliation in an effort to disguise his own ambition. The greed of one boy, unwilling to serve his own father, should not be taken so greatly to heart. I warn you, as one who knows him so well, to take care, to listen to his words carefully.

 

‘I am an honest man, and I will not manipulate those willing to stand against me on the battlefield. That is their right, and I respect that. If we are to build a prospering Solheim, it is those people of bravery and strength that we shall need. But I warn you, one who fights through words and pictures is not a man to trust, for words can be turned easier than a sword already in flight.

 

‘And to my son, if you are listening, which I am sure you are: give up this fruitless pursuit. Reunite us once again, bow to me along with your family of Luciens, and together, as one family, we can unite under the banner of the new world. Do not risk the lives of so many people over your arrogance. There is hope yet for this world.’

 

The video cuts back to the news presenter who is ready to present intense post-analysis of the speech. Prompto knows what’s coming: the slow tearing apart of his whole, carefully built reputation. All their work over the past months, destroyed, carved into pieces and turned on their head until he’s exactly what his father calls him: an arrogant, manipulative fool.

 

‘Shit,’ says Gladio from the doorway to the kitchen, protein bar forgotten in his hand.

 

Noctis releases Prompto slowly, worried he’s still about to run. The blonde just sinks to the floor where he rests his head in his hands.

 

‘What do we do,’ Noctis asks, head whipping between his three friends, ‘what do we do?’

 

The answer comes panicky and shaking from Prompto, who wails, ‘what can we do? He’s ruined it. He’s ruined everything!’

 

‘Not necessarily – ’ begins Ignis, but Prompto will have none of it.

 

‘But he’s right!’ Prompto jumps up off the floor and starts pacing around the coffee table. ‘Everyone’s going to see it straight away! I manipulate people – _we’ve_ manipulated people. All this,’ he gestures between himself and Noctis, ‘it’s all lies. Everyone’s been thinking it all along, and now they’re going to blame me. And they’re going to relish it. Fuck. FUCK.’

 

Prompto spins around and is about to punch his hand through the television when Noctis jumps up again and grabs his fist. He suddenly understands how Prompto managed to destroy his entire room.

 

‘Prompto! PROMPTO! Calm down.’

 

The blonde is still breathing heavily but freezes with Noctis’ hands on him. Noctis comes around so he is facing the prince’s front, a hand wrapped around each wrist so he can pull Prompto’s hands back down to his side.

 

‘No one is going to think anything of the sort.’

 

‘But we lied, Noct.’ Prompto’s voice is so much smaller now that he’s not yelling.

 

‘No, we didn’t.’

 

‘How can you possibly say that? You don’t even trust me.’

 

Noctis takes a deep breath and is surprised to realise it’s the truth when he says, ‘yes, I do, Prom. I trust you. And that’s why no one will believe any of that shit, okay? Because I trust you, and everyone sees it. That’s why everyone loves us, Prompto. Not because we’re acting. But because we _aren’t_.’

 

Prompto’s eyes are glassy and Noctis watches one tear slip free before the blonde buries himself in Noctis’ chest, wrapping his arms around Noctis’ torso with a fierce grip. Noctis grips back just as tightly, catching Ignis’ eye over the top of Prompto’s head. He doesn’t know what he expects to see but it certainly isn’t the approval that lightens his friend’s features. It buoys him though, so he keeps hold of Prompto, just as he will for as long as his friend needs him.

 

*-*

 

Prompto slinks away into his rooms eventually and Noctis lets him go, reading the tired slouch in his shoulders as a desire to be alone. He calls that he’ll be just outside if Prompto needs him, but the blonde just stops, nods after a moment, and then carries on.

 

With Prompto gone, Noctis turns back to the news on the television. ‘What does this mean, Ignis?’

 

Ignis and Gladio walk over to the prince so the three surround the news reels, all long distance images of the war and the occasional posed image of victory from Niflheim.

 

‘Only time will tell, now,’ says Ignis, pushing up his glasses, ‘they have won, by all appearances, but they are weaker for it. So far we suffer only the same skirmishes along the border.’

 

‘And Luna?’

 

Behind the prince’s back, Ignis and Gladio share a look. ‘We do what we can on that front, too.’

 

‘And what the hell does that mean?’

 

‘We understand it is difficult for you, but – ’

 

‘Difficult?’ Noctis has his hands clenched into fists and is becoming ever the more understanding of Prompto’s habit to destroy things. ‘I should be out there, doing something. _Saving_ her.’

 

Gladio grabs Noctis’ shoulder, pulling the boy around to meet his eyes. ‘That’s not on you – ’

 

‘Not on me?’ Noctis tries to jerk out of the grip, but Gladio is firm and won’t let the prince escape. ‘Of course it is! She’s my friend. She’s my – ’

 

‘She’s not _your_ anything. She’s _a_ friend, yes. But you got bigger responsibilities now, bud.’

 

‘What? Smiling for the fucking cameras?’

 

‘Yes,’ interjects Ignis over Gladio’s shoulder, ‘now more than ever. They will be watching, Noctis. You and Prompto both. If we stand a chance of reaching Luna, we can’t make them suspicious.’

 

‘There’s something you guys aren’t telling me.’

 

‘You’re just gonna have to trust us, man.’

 

Noctis, hands still in fists, jerks out of Gladio’s hands and collapses onto the sofa. Wrapping his arms around his knees, eyes on the television screen, he mutters, ‘you guys can go now.’

 

The two men shuffle, not quite wanting to leave but knowing that to stay won’t help at all. Gladio leads the way out, but Ignis pauses at the exit. ‘Help the ones you can. Look after Prompto, Noct. He needs you.’

 

*-*

 

Thankfully, perhaps even surprisingly, Noctis is right, and Lucis erupts in support for its prince-in-law. Yes, every interaction, every appearance is rehashed and analysed, sometimes professionally on the news, other times more – Noctis can only think to describe it as fan-ishly – on websites Noctis wants to stay far, far away from for the rest of his life.

 

Still, Prompto is quiet, spending most of his time in his rooms. They are aware of the need to make some sort of reply, but Prompto clearly isn’t up for it. Noctis refuses to force his friend, and is thankful for Ignis’ support when people from his father’s offices come to insist on a statement.

 

They will need to react eventually, but for now, Noctis is happy to let the Internet do it for them.

 

Noctis is reading through a special feature about their “marriage” in a gossip magazine, weirdly entertained by the actually-not-that-inaccurate fiction the writers have managed to interpret. On the front page of the magazine is the photo Noctis has seen a thousand times before, the one of them just after the ceremony. It’s not hard to remember Prompto ordering Noctis to put his arm around his new husband’s waist. What’s strange now is seeing the picture and knowing the exact calculations going on behind Prompto’s eyes to trigger such an order.

 

When he hears Prompto shuffle into the lounge he is careful not to react too quickly, aware of how easy it has been in recent days to scare the boy off. At least he’s still been eating, mostly.

 

Once Prompto reaches the corner of his eye Noctis glances up and offers a small smile. He’s dressed today. That’s a good sign.

 

‘Aren’t you meant to be a training with Gladio?’ Prompto’s voice is raw, but Noctis knows that if he mentions it, Prompto will make his excuses and disappear again.

 

Noctis shrugs, as if it doesn’t mean anything. ‘Nah, didn’t want you to feel like you’d been left on your own.’

 

Prompto swallows. ‘You didn’t have to do that.’

 

‘But I wanted to.’

 

At least the blonde accepts this and sits down on the sofa. If he’s a bit stiff, a bit awkward about the matter, Noctis pretends not to notice. ‘What are you looking at?’

 

‘Our life story.’ Noctis offers up the page for Prompto to glance at. He leans closer, but is careful not to touch, leaving a safe couple of inches between them.

 

‘Huh.’

 

Noctis stares at the page and chooses to voice the thought that has nagged at him for months. If he’s honest, it was the reason for all Noctis’ distrust, his disbelief that Prompto would choose the path he has apparently taken.

 

‘You’ve been more dedicated to this peace than anyone,’ Noctis starts carefully, gesturing towards the famous chapel picture on the page, ‘ever since the start, on that day – you’ve been playing this media game the whole time. Everyone knows of that picture and that was all your idea.’

 

‘Of course.’

 

Here it is, the big one, the big question: ‘But you’re heir to the Empire, Prompto. Why would you want to work against it?’

 

Prompto folds his legs up under him and suddenly becomes very interested in the leg of the coffee table. He opens his mouth a few times, taking a breath as though he is going to speak. After a few attempts, he finally does. ‘Well, to get to the real… heart of the matter, I’m heir only in title. In presumption. The Emperor would have me dead long before I sat on his throne.’ Prompto notices Noctis’ look of shock and shrugs, a withering smile gracing his lips. ‘I’m something of a disappointment to him.’

 

‘Why? Because you …’ Noctis has never brought it up again, because really what does it matter, but Prompto has stalled and Noctis doesn’t know what else to guess, because from what he’s seen Prompto is the perfect leader: smart, brave, and most importantly, likeable. He can think of nothing else. ‘Because you like guys?’

 

‘No, no… well… that’s probably part of it but… When I was ten years old, my father took me with him to the front. Gods, hope you never see a sight like that, Noct. The world… The world was all red and black and smoke. I felt like I couldn’t _breathe_.

 

‘There were prisoners at the camp. Spies, or infiltrators, I don’t know. No one ever explained anything to me. Looking back they were probably just some poor suckers who found themselves in the wrong place at the wrong time. But there I was, ten years old, chubby and scared and desperate to not get in trouble with my father. He… He hands me a gun – I was a kid, Noct. _A fucking kid_.’

 

Prompto is crying now and Noctis wants to tell him to stop, to tell him that he doesn’t need to say this, that he doesn’t need to admit anything. But Prompto is talking too fast to interrupt, and Noctis thinks that maybe this is something Prompto has been itching to talk about for a very long time. So instead he shuffles over and puts his arm around Prompto. The blonde lets his head drop onto Noctis’ shoulder, tears dripping onto the fabric, but Noctis doesn’t even notice.

 

‘I… I…’

 

Prompto really has stalled, but Noctis can guess what happens next. ‘You didn’t shoot.’

 

Prompto shakes his head as best he can against Noctis’ shoulder. ‘No, I shot,’ he laughs, a dark, cracking cackle, and it’s such a shock that there’s no way Prompto doesn’t feel Noctis freeze up. ‘I shot, Noct. It took a helluva lot of coaxing and yelling about how worthless I was, about how much of a coward I was, but I shot. And you know what? I missed. I fucking missed from three meters away.

 

‘Iedolas flipped. Slit their throats open with his sword and walked away, leaving me there. I don’t really remember much after that. He didn’t try and make me do it again though. There’s that, I guess.’ There’s more to that final statement, to the way Prompto fades off, but Noctis is weirdly sort of scared to push.

 

After a long moment in which Noctis tries to get over the sickness in his stomach, Noctis speaks, although finds himself incapable of raising his voice above a whisper. ‘So he doesn’t want you to be Emperor… because you can’t fight?’

 

Prompto pushes himself up and away from Noctis, wipes away his tears with his fists. ‘He doesn’t want me to be emperor because I don’t _want_ to fight. Because war, power, invasion; none of it interests me. I am everything he is not.’

 

‘So you just, what? Refused to train for your whole life?’

 

Prompto smiles with some secret sort of amusement, such a contrast to his still puffy eyes staring at a random spot on the ground. ‘Even if you’re not joining him, Gladio’s down at the training grounds, yeah?’

 

Noctis frowns. ‘Yeah?’

 

‘Can I show you something, Noct?’

 

‘Of course.’

 

Prompto moves with determined grace as he leaves their suite and guides them towards the training rooms. By the time they reach the large, barred doors, all signs of his breakdown are gone. There are a few glaive soldiers practicing inside, but it is relatively quiet for the busyness it can be at peak times of the week.

 

Noctis waits just inside the doorway per Prompto’s prompting as he approaches one of the soldiers, their mumbled conversation too quiet for the prince to hear. They both look over at the same time, gaze searching. Following Prompto’s hints, despite the mystery, Noctis nods, and the soldier visibly relaxes. He leads the blond over to an arms room at the edge of the hall, and Noctis is surprised to realise that he’d just been asked permission to allow Prompto to handle weapons. In their recent haze of familiarity with one another Noctis had almost forgotten just how many restrictions the other prince lived under.

 

Noctis glances around and eventually finds Gladio across the room. The shield is yet to notice him, but Noctis heads off in his direction anyway.

 

‘Hey.’

 

‘Sup, kid,’ Gladio replies, no visible surprise at seeing him.

 

‘I’m not really a kid anymore, y’know.’

 

Gladio grins and ruffles Noctis’ hair, much to the prince’s chagrin. ‘You’ll always be a kid to me, kid. You here to train after all?’

 

‘Not quite,’ Noctis murmurs, nodding to where Prompto emerges from the arms room. He’s removed his jumper so that now he wears just his combat trousers and a tank top. Not an unusual casual outfit for the other prince, but the holsters strapped to his hips add a whole new dimension that honestly make Prompto look kind of badass.

 

Gladio drops his stretching stance he’d been in, eyebrows raised. ‘You wanna enlighten me as to what’s going on here?’

 

‘I would,’ Noctis murmurs, watching Prompto take his place on the platform in the centre of the room, ‘but I’m not quite sure myself.’

 

The training room is a large hall bordered by columns. The central platform is where most of the sparring is done. With the kinds of weapons glaive fighters use, the area must be large but safe, and so the columns form a kind of barrier. The few soldiers milling around the room clear to the sides as they see someone take up the space, intrigue clear on their faces.

 

The solider who had armed Prompto is still out of sight, and Noctis can only assume he has gone to the control room. Although Noctis has rarely used the tool, having someone to spar with always on hand, he knows that should they wish, glaive fighters can train with a simulation instead.

 

Sure enough, once Prompto has fallen into a surprisingly professional stance, he looks up to the window in the far side of the room. ‘Don’t go easy on me,’ Prompto calls, followed by a deep breath and then, ‘ _pull_.’

 

Despite his instructions, the first shots pulled are a simple three pellets in slow succession arching across the room from where they are released up in the balcony. They are not even aimed at Prompto, like they would be were this a soldier’s training activity. Prompto watches their track through the air, hands limp at his sides, as they fall with a clatter against the stone floor far across the hall.

 

There is a pause, and then Pormpto spins towards the target mechanism, calling up at its controller. ‘You’re kidding me, right? What, you scared of me, bro?’ By this point they have attracted the attention of most of the room’s other occupants. At this a light chuckle filters throughout the small crowd.

 

There is no answer, but the obvious anger brought about by the public teasing from a _Niff_ is made clear. The controller doesn’t wait for the shot to be called, just pulls the trigger and five pellets come racing directly towards Prompto at top speed. Noctis steps forward, a jolt of fear sparking through him because Prompto is going to get hit.

 

But he doesn’t.

 

With movements too quick for Noctis to even register, Prompto has a gun in each hand, the barrels smoking and the floor around him showered in the glassy fragments of pellets that have yet to puff into smoke. The blond stands, grinning, completely unharmed.

 

‘He can shoot,’ Noctis says, as if it’s not already obvious. Prompto looks back at him and grins, something alive glowing in his eyes.

 

At Noctis’ side, Gladio laughs.

 

Prompto spins the guns in his fingers before shoving them back in their holsters. He shakes out his hands, stretches his neck around and spreads his feet into a ready position. ‘Better,’ he yells, ‘but still a little too easy.’

 

*-*

 

Gladio must text Ignis, because he arrives while Prompto is still in the simulation. In the classic Ignis style, he looks unsurprised to see Prompto wiping the floor with the entire Kingsglaive’s personal best scores.

 

When Noctis mentions this, he simply replies, ‘well no prince is going to be completely defenseless, are they? Though I will admit, I had predicted his skills were more likely to be with knives.’

 

‘That’s just ‘cause you like knives so much, Iggy,’ grins Gladio.

 

‘They are very multifunctional.’

 

When Prompto comes off for a break, Gladio offers some water. Ignis stares at the blonde for so long that he stops drinking, bottle help to his lips subconsciously. ‘Everything okay?’

 

‘How would you feel about training with Noctis, your highness?’

 

‘Training? With Noctis?’

 

‘That is what I said, yes.’

 

‘But…’

 

‘Iggy’s got a point,’ Gladio says, ‘we could plan some killer combos with Noct’s sword and your guns.’

 

‘I mean,’ Prompto stumbles, eyes excited but suddenly unsure as he’s looking at Noctis, ‘it’s up to you, Noct.’

 

The Lucien prince shrugs, grinning. ‘I’m down if you are.’

 

It takes little organization to integrate Prompto into their training schedule, now that he is rarely called to speak with the council. Before Prompto has time to reel from the speed of it, he goes from being an outsider in Noctis’ life to a constant companion; there in public, there at dinner, at training, in the evenings as they laugh over video games and in the mornings as they share breakfast. Even if Prompto is still not allowed to attend the council meetings Noctis sits in on, what does it matter? After all, Prompto needs to find some time for his photography.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for all your comments on the last chapter u guys are an absolute squad xo

 

They don’t make an official statement in the end. Instead they carry on as normal.

 

Their first public appearance is opening a new youth centre across town. They know they’re going to be asked about Iedolas’ words, and they are prepared but they aren’t going to dwell.

 

Prompto dresses slowly, each button of his shirt a chore. But he manages, falling back into old routines. Avoid mirrors until the last moment. Rehearse, over and over, conversations that may occur. Be prepared. Be prepared. Take deep breaths. Just keep breathing.

 

When Noctis emerges, he finds Prompto stood stone cold in the centre of the lounge, fingers clenched so hard his knuckles are white and eyes staring at a random point on the carpet. He approaches slowly until he is standing just before the blonde, waving a hand to try and disrupt the empty stare. Prompto’s always been pale, but on this morning his skin is barely a shade off the white of his shirt.

 

‘You okay, man?’ It’s a stupid question, Noctis knows, but words are not his thing.

 

Appropriately, Prompto’s only reply is a broken, disjointed laugh.

 

‘C’mon.’ Noctis punches Prompto’s shoulder. The blonde falls with the punch then swings back into the same place. ‘You’re always so put together. Can’t bail out on me now.’

 

‘I’m put together?’

 

‘Well… y’know… when it comes to… public… speaking.’

 

‘Noctis. This shit terrifies me.’

 

‘Really? You never seem to look terrified.’

 

‘Survival method.’

 

‘No kidding there. You could have said something sooner. Would have been nice to know me and you were sinking in the same boat.’

 

‘You think we’re sinking?’

 

‘Not… necessarily. Look, how’d you do it, then? If you’re terrified all the time, how do you avoid always looking like…’ Noctis gestures up and down at Prompto’s still stiff figure, ‘this.’

 

Something breaks through and Prompto raises his eyebrows at Noctis, who offers a weak smile. He has no idea if what he’s saying is actually helping, or just making things worse, but it’s the only idea he can come up with.

 

‘I can tell sometimes you think I’m doing stuff wrong. Teach me. How are you always so confident?’

 

‘You… you…’ Prompto takes a deep breath, licks his lips. ‘You just… don’t show it. Everyone has this expectation, everyone knows what they want to see. So you don’t give them _you_. You give them an image. You give them what they expect to see, what they want to see.’

 

‘That’s it? It’s that easy?’

 

‘Nothing is ever easy, Noctis. Surely you know that.’

 

Prompto’s eyes are heavy on Noctis’, and the moment is _more_ than Noctis expects. ‘And what about you?’

 

‘What about me?’

 

‘Where do you come in to it? How do you not lose yourself?’

 

‘I… I do, sometimes. I feel… like I’m going missing.’

 

Noctis smiles, confidently this time, stronger, reassuring. ‘That’s okay, Prom. I’ll find you.’

 

On a conscious level, Noctis is sort of making a joke, and it works because Prompto gives off this weak little chuckle. But there’s an understanding that passes through them in that moment, a sudden realization that Prompto doesn’t need to worry, not so much, not anymore, because if he does go missing, there is someone to find him.

 

*-*

 

The first camera in Prompto’s face brings up the speech. Prompto smiles, scoffs, and says, ‘oh, him? Pretty sure he was just spewing a lot of empty wind because he knows there’s nothing he can do. Sticks and stones, man, sticks and stones.’

 

He grins through the rest of his day, posing where he can and messing around in a football game with some of the local kids. If he feels a bit queasy, nerves shot to hell on the inside, knowing how his father is seething halfway across the world, no one would know looking at the pictures.

 

No one but Noctis, that is.

 

He stays close the whole day, and if the atmosphere isn’t quite the same as in the past, with Prompto falling apart again and Noctis stressing over Tenebrae and Luna, then they manage to keep it away from the cameras. Prompto is right; it’s all about the image.

 

Prompto stops, just once, between one door and the next. Noctis is already a few steps away and turns to see one of their guides approaching to see that he’s okay. Noctis feels instinctively that this would not end well. So he gets there before she can, jerking forward, slipping his hand into Prompto’s. He tugs the boy towards himself, and with his lips close enough to touch Prompto’s ear, he murmurs, ‘just hold out until tonight, okay, Prom. Keep it together, and later I’ll take you somewhere you can fall apart.’

 

For the rest of the afternoon Noctis keeps his hand in Prompto’s. The cameras love it.

 

*-*

 

No one comes to dinner.

 

It’s been a long time since Prompto has had to try and eat alone. The appeal just… isn’t there, so he scrapes the pasta into the bin and decides that going to bed might just be the best idea. Noctis is clearly busy, and if Prompto had been holding on to Noctis’ promise like a life raft all day, then what does it matter? It got them through. It was a tactic, a tool.

 

Prompto is probably right back to being the enemy.

 

He is just about to strip down into some sweats and a t-shirt when his bedroom door opens suddenly and Noctis pops his head inside. Prompto stares, a bit dazed.

 

‘Good. You’re still dressed. Grab your jacket and come with me.’

 

Noctis disappears, slamming the door behind him.

 

Prompto is still trying to absorb the interaction when it opens again, Noctis appearing just long enough to say, ‘also, bring your camera.’

 

When Prompto meets Noctis, the other prince is waiting by the front door of his suite, arms crossed over his chest and foot tapping with impatience.

 

‘What’s going on?’

 

‘You didn’t forget, did you? I’m taking you out.’

 

Noctis grins. The way he phrases it – _I’m taking you out_ – has Prompto on the edge of flushing, suddenly wishing he’d put more effort into a very simple outfit of skinny jeans and a jumper. Not that he knows why, of course. After all, this is just Noctis.

 

Grabbing Prompto’s arm, Noctis pulls the two of them out the door and drags them at speed through the corridors. Prompto follows blindly, happy to be towed along. As they are about to reach a t-section, Noctis stops and yanks Prompto with him against the wall with enough force to wind the blonde boy.

 

‘Um, what,’ Prompto reduces his voice to a whisper at Noctis’ glare, ‘what are we doing?’

 

‘Well,’ Noctis explains, peeking around the corner as he speaks, ‘with everyone else running about like headless chickens with some big event I’m apparently not allowed to know anything about, I thought this’d be the perfect opportunity to sneak out.’

 

‘Sneak out?’

 

‘Yeah, we can’t get found out, okay? So that means we can’t use the elevators and may have to hide in the curtains at some points.’

 

Noctis’ smile is wide and his eyes flash was something akin to excitement. And then he’s grabbing Prompto’s hand and pulling them along again. At some point the moment sinks in with Prompto and he doesn’t have to be dragged. His legs are stretching, as keen as Noctis, and the two fly down the corridors, dodging guards in their effort to reach the garage on the bottom floor. Prompto never stops grinning, never lets go of Noctis’ hand.

 

Somehow, miraculously, they make it, bursting out into the dark palace garage. The automatic lights flicker on strip by strip, illuminating an array of vans, limos and sports cars. Noctis guides Prompto over to a sleek audi hidden in the back corner of the room.

 

Still conscious of getting caught, Prompto releases Noctis’ hand and ducks into the passenger seat. Noctis is suddenly a lot more leisurely, changing the position of his seat and checking over all the mirrors. He flashes Prompto a quick grimace. ‘Sorry, it’s been a while since I’ve actually driven this ol’ thing.’

 

Prompto finds that surprising. If this were his car, he’s not sure he could resist the sleek leather and flashing buttons, and he’s not even really a car person.

 

When the engine starts it’s a loud, vicious thing, eating up the quiet of the garage. It only heightens Prompto’s nerves as he searches the windows on all sides, expecting a platoon of glaives to rush them. He’s not sure he could take failure now. His heart is set on the Outside.

 

Noctis reverses the car out of its space and guides it around the parking lot, headlights illuminating the approaching ramp where a gap is slowly opening up onto the street.

 

Prompto frowns. ‘How did you get the garage door open?’

 

‘The security cameras will have seen a car approaching.’

 

‘Security cameras? Wait, if they can see us here, won’t they have seen us running all about the palace?’

 

Noctis scoffs. ‘Well, obviously, Prom. We live in the royal palace. No one sneaks around that building. That’d be a pretty serious security flaw.’

 

‘Then what… then what was the point in all of that?’

 

Noctis meets Prompto’s eye, gaze flashing in the city lights as he guides the car out onto the street. ‘You had fun, didn’t you?’

 

Prompto doesn’t even bother replying, just settles back in his seat to watch the city go by, smiling quietly to himself. Because yeah, he’d been stressing, terrified that they’d get caught. But it was such a refreshing, different, tangible type of terrified that it was almost pleasurable compared the abstract beast that had been following all day. So yeah, yeah he had fun.

 

*-*

 

Something changes outside of the palace.

 

Noctis feels like he’s floating, existing in an unreal world of headlights and streetlights. For the first couple of hours they just drive. The roads slowly clear as they get further and further out of the city. Eventually he comes to a highway that he sweeps the car onto, foot pressing onto the accelerator and eyes on the road ahead instead of the speedometer stretching far far above the speed limit.

 

Before he has registered what he is doing, Noctis is crossing the bridge out of Insomnia and onto the mainland. Prompto seems like he is about to say something, eyeing Noctis and mouth opening, but it’s like there is something in the air, or maybe it’s something missing, something keeping the sound inside of them working, because the idea of making sound against the rumble of the engine just seems wrong. Instead, Prompto gets his camera out of his backpack and starts snapping pictures through the windows.

 

Unlike voices, the click seems to fit, and Noctis loves it, the idea that Prompto is capturing this ethereal night somehow. Maybe it’ll seem more real in pictures.

 

Across the bridge Noctis finds a dirt track that leads up the coastal hills. He winds the audi through the roads until they emerge at a cliff edge, city tearing off the edge of the horizon across the water. Here he brings the car to a slow stop. The engine cuts and silence floods in. With the headlights off, the only light is from the moon and the distant light of the city.

 

‘Here we are,’ Noctis says, finally, though strangely mournful at having to break the silence, ‘somewhere where you can fall apart.’

 

Prompto is staring at the sky like it’s a coming wave, about to overwhelm and drown him at any moment. Noctis reaches over and rubs a hand on Prompto’s arm, jerking the blonde out of his moment. Prompto nods, shaky, and reaches to pop the door open.

 

‘Aren’t you coming?’

 

Noctis shakes his head. ‘This is something I kinda think you need to do alone.’

 

Prompto opens his mouth, ready to make his objection, but thinks better of it. Instead, he nods and slips out of the darkened car. Noctis watches as the blonde slams the door shut and walks to the cliff edge, a ghostly silhouette on the horizon. And then, he closes his eyes.

 

*-*

 

Prompto doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do.

 

There are stars and lights and the moon, but where he stands it’s so very dark.

 

Noctis had looked so certain, like he was doing Prompto a favour, but really the blonde wishes he had some sort of guidance. He’s just here, at the edge of nowhere, the closest thing to free he’s been in his entire life, and he feels… nothing.

 

It’s so ironic he has to laugh.

 

A little, small chuckle at first, a disjointed thing that breaks the air around him. But then another bubble comes, stronger this time, until he’s outright giggling, a belly full of laughter building until he’s clutching his stomach, curled over himself with the strength of it. He’s laughing so hard it’s bringing tears to his eyes and he falls to his knees, arms still clutched around his middle.

 

But then the laughter is different, a loud, forced thing, broken into pieces that are somehow smashing together until it’s not laughter anymore. It’s noise. It’s yelling so loud that his throat is burning, cracking. But it keeps dissolving, disappearing into the empty void of darkness around Prompto that it feels so wrong. He’s doing so much, screaming so loudly, punching at the ground but it won’t do anything. The world doesn’t care, doesn’t react, even the air stays the same, this swirl of silence and darkness around a monster of panic.

 

So he keeps going, keeps screaming until his throat is burning and the moisture in his mouth feels like it should be blood. There are tracks of tears down his cheeks and he can’t see anything but vague impressions of the world. His knuckles really are bloody where he’s beating the ground, scraping, because if his noise won’t do anything then he has to make a mark _somehow_.

 

Then there’s something stopping his fingers, something wrapping around his wrists and pulling him towards warmth. He can’t stop, not now, his vocal chords stuck in their broken record. But his throat is so very raw and barely capable of making any sound by this point.

 

It’s Noctis, dragging him away from the ground, wrapping his arms around the blonde broken boy. Prompto collapses into Noctis’ chest, thoughtless as he buries his tearful face in the fabric of Noctis’ t-shirt. With Noctis whispering in his ear Prompto calms down into gentle sobs, body shaking in Noctis’ arms. The Lucien prince just keeps hold, rocking his prince back and forth until silence envelops them once again.

 

*-*

 

The city looks so much smaller from so far away.

 

This is what Noctis thinks as he clutches Prompto, still rocking, pressing his cheek to Prompto’s soft hair. Because he can’t think about Prompto, can’t think about the pain that was in the boy’s voice. He’ll be having nightmares of that sound. It’s set now in his bones, in his soul, and he needs to make sure Prompto never feels the need to scream like that again.

 

Time is a lost thing, but Noctis’ muscles are stiff and aching by the time Prompto’s sobs have settled into mere hiccups. Noctis doesn’t let go. Noctis doesn’t know if he can.

 

‘Sorry.’ Prompto’s voice is croaky, ruined, and Noctis isn’t sure Prompto’s going to be able to hide that.

 

‘No need to be sorry.’

 

‘You probably didn’t expect me to have an absolute breakdown.’

 

‘Prom, that’s literally exactly what we came out here for. I may not be the best in terms of coming up with coping mechanisms, but honestly I thought this was better than you being stuck too long in that head of yours.’

 

‘What about you? You’re… not okay, either.’

 

‘Don’t worry about me. I’ll work out all my issues with Gladio in the training room.’

 

‘But I… I want to help you, too.’

 

Prompto pushes himself away from Noctis but the dark haired prince keeps his arms loosely around his friend. Honestly, he feels sort of like if he lets go completely Prompto will fall apart in front of his eyes, into nothing more than a pile of limbs and hang-ups.

 

‘You have helped me, Prom. Maybe not in the same way that I’m helping you, but I… I’m actually acting like a prince now. Actually taking part in the thing I need to be. And I may not enjoy it, but at least you make it bearable. I can’t go losing you, not now. So I better make sure you’re okay.’

 

‘Thanks, then, I guess,’ Prompto shrugs, wiping at his face with his fists to cover up what Noctis suspects to be almost a blush. ‘You can… talk about it… if you want.’

 

‘Honestly, there’s not really a lot to talk about. Iggy pointed out that there’s no point in stressing when I’m so powerless. I’m best off looking after the person with who I can actually make a difference.’ He squeezes Prompto arm to emphasize his point.

 

Rather than meet Noctis’ gaze, Prompto looks out over the water.

 

Now that Prompto isn’t shaking with sobs, Noctis is overcome by the aches in his muscles. He pushes himself up, legs and back twinging as he stretches out his limbs. With that done, he looks down to Prompto, nudging the boy with his toe to get his attention.

 

‘You fancy driving some more?’

 

Prompto makes a sound that’s almost a laugh. ‘You think I’m in any state to drive?’

 

‘I meant that I would drive, dummy. You can just… sit.’

 

Slowly at first, and then more confidently, Prompto nods. ‘I would like that.’

 

*-*

 

Noctis is going seventy down the empty road, street lamps streaming by like a river of light, the city nothing to them but shadows blended to the sky. Everything still feels a little bit unreal, a little bit untouchable.

 

Prompto is staring, head bent, curled towards the stars through the windscreen. When Noctis looks over he sees the whole world captured in the twilight of his eyes. Because they are twilight. He hasn’t really noticed before, but Prompto’s eyes are so many things at once. Even as dazed as they are, even with him in recovery, still a collection of pieces to be put back together, there’s so much. They're not blue, they're everything, they're the ocean Noctis would be happy to drown in, the sky in the moments where the sun is just about to give in but Prompto just won't let it. They hold a world in themselves, and that world is this: Insomnia, alive, buzzing, bright, and living in Prompto's irises.

 

Prompto smiles slightly, considering the sky, and pulls himself out of the open window. With his fingers clutching the edge of the car, he hangs in the wind with an absolute carelessness Noctis can only envy. And despite the heaviness of the night, Prompto lights on fire in the orange city lights. And Noctis lights up with him.

 

*-*

 

The sky is almost turning grey with the hint of the rising sun by the time they get back to the palace, car empty of gas and Prompto curled up asleep in the passenger seat.

 

The world is cold with the engine stopped, the vibrations of the car lost. Noctis nudges Prompto awake. Unlike Noctis who would take a small army to bring around when so exhausted, Prompto seems to sleep on the edge of waking.

 

‘We’re home,’ Noctis whispers.

 

Prompto nods and opens the car door. He’s dazed as he tries to walk, straggering and zigzagging, so Noctis takes his hand and tugs him toward the elevator. The trip back to the suite is a lot quicker than their trip out. Ironically, they pass only one guard on the way, with the morning as early as it is, and even they are looking in the other direction.

 

Once home, Noctis leads Prompto to his bedroom door. He lets go of Prompto’s hand but can’t seem to bring himself to walk away, consumed with the feeling that once he does, whatever this ocean is they are still swimming in will evaporate, and when they wake they’ll be back to step one all over again.

 

Prompto seems to feel similarly, because he’s not leaving, just leaning against his door and staring at Noctis’ shoes.

 

Noctis scratches the back of his neck, eyes flickering around the hallway. ‘Well, uh, night, I guess, Prom.’

 

Waiting, Noctis finds himself hoping for… what, he doesn’t know. Finally, he shuffles his feet, ready to step away when Prompto asks, ‘have you ever had a sleepover?’

 

Noctis frowns, cocking his head to the side. ‘Well, I slept on Iggy’s sofa a couple times as a kid, I think… But I guess that doesn’t really count.’

 

After taking a deep, visible breath, in which his chest puffs out, Prompto raises his head. ‘You wanna have a sleepover now? Tonight?’

 

Sleepovers don’t work like this, they both know. Sleepovers are things where you have movies and popcorn and you camp out on different beds in the same room. But they can both mentally translate what Prompto means, even if neither of them feel the need to say it out loud.

 

‘Yeah. Okay.’

 

If he goes back to his room to change, Noctis knows the moment will break and he’ll stay there and won’t come back. So when Prompto pushes into his room, Noctis follows. Inside the room, everything is grey shadows in the light of the rising morning. Prompto doesn’t bother with a lamp, doesn’t bother to change, either. Just slips off his shoes and climbs into one side of the bed. Following Prompto’s lead, Noctis does the same.

 

The bed is big and they both have plenty of room. Noctis lies on his side, facing Prompto, and finds that the blonde has mirrored him almost exactly, one hand resting in the empty space between them. Though the boy had seemed exhausted in the car, Prompto’s eyes are wide open now, glinting just enough that Noctis can make out the vague shapes of his features.

 

‘Thank you,’ Prompto says, ‘for tonight.’

 

‘No problem. I… Is it weird to say I had fun?’

 

‘No.’ Prompto chuckles, although with his damaged throat it turns into a cough. ‘No, I had fun too. I needed that.’

 

Noctis smiles and reaches out to squeeze Prompto’s hand. ‘We’ve broken you apart, Prompto. And now we’re going to put you back together.’

 

With the time that passes, Noctis’ eyes have fallen shut and he assumes they’re both almost asleep. But once more, quietly, as though scared the rest of the world will hear, Prompto speaks.

 

‘It feels like everything that matters between us happens in the dark.’

 

Noctis tightens his hand on Prompto’s again. ‘That’s okay. There’s no one watching in the dark.’

 

‘The dark is ours.’

 

‘The dark is us.’

 

*-*

 

Noctis yelps awake, Ignis still pinching his arm and glaring.

 

Needless to say, this surprises the Lucien prince, who barely had memories of going to bed with another human being at all, let alone is advisor. Noctis opens his mouth to ask what the hell is going on but Ignis stops him with a finger to his lips.

 

At that moment, the silence is broken by the softest hitch of a snore. Noctis glances over and there’s Prompto, still fast asleep on his other side, face half buried in the pillow and hair falling over his closed eyes. Noctis finds himself wanting to watch, just for a few seconds, trying not to examine too closely where that feeling comes from.

 

Instead, Ignis shakes him with a hand on his shoulder, the hand he had used to wake the prince in the first place. With a gesture, Ignis orders Noctis to follow him outside. Careful not to disturb the bed and wake the blonde, Noctis slides out and quietly exits the room, pulling the door closed with a soft click.

 

‘It’s not what it looks like,’ he whispers, coming to his own immediate defense.

 

Ignis doesn’t care, already walking to the suite’s exit. ‘You need to come with me. _Now_.’


	10. Chapter 10

She’s dusty and her hair is shorter than he remembers – or is that the way it’s tied up, haphazard and panicked, with strings hanging down? – plus he’s so used to seeing her in her sleek white dresses that the tight trousers and brown leather jacket look sort of wrong.

 

But it’s her.

 

Who else looks like that, smiles like that, glows like that? Noctis’ heart jumps inside, his insides turning to smoke and he’s barely even there, present, existing, because his mind is ninety percent disbelief and twenty percent hope and one hundred percent need.

 

She flies at him, jumps into his arms and it’s her, real, solid, _Luna_ , in Noctis’ arms. He hadn’t realised how wound up he was, every muscle held taut and his brain holding a constant chain of panic in the back of his mind until it was all released, gone, dissolved. If he hadn’t had Prompto to keep him distracted, he’s not sure he would have coped.

 

Noctis buries his face in Luna’s shoulder and somehow she’s mostly holding him, keeping him together, when it should be the other way around.

 

A cough drags Noctis back to the real world, and it occurs to him to take in the rest of the room. Ignis and Gladio stand to one side, his father opposite with Clarus at his side. Most of the group is made up of a small collection of glaive soldiers, all as dusty and worn as Luna. At their head stands a dark haired man Noctis vaguely recognises who eyes the two hugging friends, hand still raised to his mouth where he caught his cough.

 

Luna, slight blush rising on her cheeks, removes her hands from around Noctis’ neck. Still, the prince keeps one hand on Luna’s arm, scared that if he lets go she’ll disappear into smoke.

 

‘How – I don’t understand?’

 

‘So little faith,’ Luna teases, ‘you didn’t think I could make it out?’

 

‘No, that’s not what I meant. I mean, yeah – no – what? There’s a lot going on right now.’

 

‘Clearly.’

 

‘With the Niflheim forces distracted as they were by the final push for victory,’ King Regis announces, shifting against his cane, ‘Captain Ulric was able to take advantage of the moment and give Lunafreya aid in her escape.’

 

Captain Ulric. Nyx Ulric. Noctis sort of remembers Luna mentioning his name in the past.

 

‘Much of it was down to the oracle, to be honest,’ Nyx concedes, ‘she’d already made it out by the time we arrived. We were just able to offer a lift.’

 

Luna smiles at the soldier, something low, like she’s trying to hide it. ‘I still could not have done it without you.’

 

Nyx nods, conceding, but otherwise says nothing. Noctis watches the exchange, and he’s far from an idiot. He should feel something here. Jealousy, maybe? But there’s nothing – just untainted relief at having Luna back again. He can’t stop himself. He drags Luna into one more quick, tight hug, eyes closed as he tries to absorb every detail of the experience. He needs to remember this. Needs to reassure himself that it’s not some weirdly vivid dream.

 

This time when he releases Luna she shifts just slightly back towards the glaive soldiers. Not moving away from Noctis, as such, just gravitating towards Nyx.

 

‘If this was the plan, why didn’t…’ Noctis asks the floor and then looks up at his father, ‘why didn’t anyone tell me?’

 

‘Son,’ says Regis, ‘you have a great deal to cope with at this moment in time, and… we didn’t want you to get your hopes up. The captain’s success was never guaranteed. There was just as much against the team as there was going for them.’

 

Noctis is struck by a self-conscious burst of anger flashing through his stomach. ‘I’m not that fragile! I don’t have to be kept in the dark about everything. I should have been told.’

 

Regis catches Gladio’s eye behind Noctis, only adding to the prince’s feeling of betrayal.

 

‘What happened to all your speeches about me not being a kid anymore, huh? I can cope with this sort of thing. It’s not going to tear me – ’

 

‘Prompto was also a risk, of course.’ Clarus’ voice is unexpected in the argument. Usually, he leaves Regis and Noctis to battle out arguments such as this on their own terms. Noctis is struck into silence and suddenly no one will look his way.

 

‘Prompto? Why would he be a problem?’

 

Clarus is the only one who meets Noctis’ eye, expression blank and professional. ‘If Prince Prompto caught wind of the plan, there was always a chance of the information getting back to the Niflheim forces, thus ruining all elements of surprise. The only chance we had in this plan was that they didn’t know we were coming.’

 

Noctis opens his mouth, ready with a vicious defense. But then, wasn’t he the one from the start urging everyone to be suspicious? Urging everyone to tread carefully around the potential spy? What place has he to criticize the sensible decision?

 

Still, there’s an uncomfortable pain in his stomach, a kind of betrayal. Because he trusts Prompto, he does. Prompto is kind and supportive and mostly sort of broken. People shouldn’t be suspicious of him. People should want to help him.

 

The two sides battle in his head, and without even having to settle on one side or the other he realizes the right decision was made. He spends the most time with Prompto, and even he can’t say with any absolute certainty that Prompto is trustworthy. He wants to. It’s what his heart says. But his head still has one surviving little voice, and as long as that’s there, Clarus’ logic is sound. If Noctis had known of the plan there’s no way he wouldn’t have spilled it to Prompto in his excitement.

 

Everyone seems a touch surprised when Noctis nods with growing confidence. ‘That’s fair enough.’

 

Regis nods and the moment moves on. He turns to Luna. ‘Apologies. I know you must be tired and wanting to rest, but if you are willing, the council is urging for a debriefing at the earliest opportunity.’

 

Luna nods. ‘Of course. I have much to report, and the earlier is the better.’

 

The group heads off, Regis leading the way towards the council chamber and everyone else following. Luna stays with the soldiers, while Noctis falls in between Ignis and Gladio.

 

‘I take it you guys knew?’

 

‘Of course,’ nods Ignis.

 

‘And what were _your_ reasons for keeping this quiet?’

 

‘As Clarus said, there were risks.’

 

‘You’ve been wanting me to trust Prompto from the start.’

 

‘Yes, because it is your job to be close to him. I am your advisor, Noct. It is my job to be your voice of reason, the balance to your own logic. When you did not trust him, it was my job to do so, to offer the opposite to your own thoughts. Now that you do trust him, it is my job to once again hold the role of devils advocate when I see fit.’

 

Noctis grunts, not entirely convinced.

 

Ignis’ voice drops low enough so that only their trio can hear. ‘Why were you sleeping in his bed last night?’

 

Gladio makes this sort of surprised snort and Noctis blushes. Rather than cave to the embarrassment in his gut, Noctis raises his chin. ‘He needed me and I was there.’

 

Strangely, Ignis nods, as though that is exactly the right answer.

 

*-*

 

In the council chamber, Noctis heads over to his place at Regis’ side. Ignis and Gladio head over to their own places at the edge of the room.

 

‘Why didn’t you tell him it was my idea?’

 

Ignis glances at Gladio who is stood, arms crossed over his chest but teeth chewing at the edge of his lip. Gladio’s only one real sign of worry.

 

‘We’re his friends, Gladio,’ Ignis replies, ‘and he needs us to support him. He’s used to my being contrary, but you… he’d take it more to heart. Think more about it. You have a habit of impressing the point quite aggressively.’

 

‘I was just worried about him.’

 

‘But he doesn’t need to know that. As he said himself, he is not so fragile.’

 

‘Was he really in the blonde’s bed last night, huh?’

 

‘Don’t be so lewd. They were dressed.’

 

‘What time’d they get back?’

 

‘A little after five.’

 

Gladio whistles. ‘Hard night on the town, huh?’

 

‘Indeed. I only hope it ended well.’

 

‘You think it didn’t?’

 

‘I’m more unsure as to how “well” is defined.’

 

*-*

 

Prompto wakes up to an empty bed and the sun. He’d forgotten to close the curtains when they headed to bed, and now light streams into the room, bouncing off Prompto’s colourful rug.

 

His eyes feel gritty, dried out from sleeping in contacts, and his throat is raw when he swallows. Physically speaking, he’s achy and still tired. But mentally, he’s… calm. It’s a strange place to be.

 

When he slides out of bed there’s a twinge as his tight jeans catch his skin. His first move is to slide out of last night’s clothes and put on some comfortable loungewear. Next he heads to the bathroom to wash the surface cuts on his hands – they’re far from serious, thanks to Noctis stopping him when things got really bad – and splash some water over his face. The prospect of a shower is a little too much right now.

 

The suite is quiet when he emerges from his room. There’s no music coming from the kitchen, no television coming from the lounge. Still, Prompto is floating in this strange sense of disassociation, so rather than be concerned, he’s mostly just _hungry_.

 

He heads to the kitchen and digs out the cereal, setting himself up with a bowl, spoon and milk. Before he really registers what he’s doing, he inhales three bowls and is pouring himself a forth. Then he remembers Noctis’ waffles. Though scarred by the experience of Noctis’ sugary mounds, he finds himself craving the junk. So he adds that to his breakfast.

 

As he eats his second waffle he becomes aware of what he’s doing. This is the stress eating beginning. With his sense of calm has returned his dangerous appetite. The appetite that got him into a great deal of trouble back in Niflheim. Before he can eat any more, he stuffs the boxes away, throws the bowl in the sink and wanders into the lounge.

 

Everything is still where he left it the night before, so Noctis hasn’t been here. He heads to Noctis’ room where he knocks on the door. Not that it will do much, Prompto knows, Noctis being such a heavy sleeper as he is. Stealing himself, Prompto nudges the door open.

 

Noctis’ room is almost an exact replica of Prompto’s, although where the latter has a scattering of pop-culture decorations spread across the room, Noctis is much more minimalist, instead choosing dirty laundry and junk as décor. Rather than finding the dark hole and sleeping prince Prompto expects, Noctis’ room is empty, bed untouched and light streaming through the windows.

 

There’s no one else home.

 

It’s been a long time since Prompto has faced a day totally and completely alone, with nothing to do. But, unlike his previous days of self-imposed isolation, he doesn’t feel like just going back to bed. He is awake. He’s loose, floating on a string only just connected to reality, but it’s still the most awake he’s been for a very long time.

 

He goes to the front doors of the suite and opens them, expecting to find an accompaniment of guards to keep him where he can be found. But nope, the corridor is empty. He stands out on the plush purple rug for a few minutes, staring.

 

How things have changed.

 

Then it occurs to him. He’s just eaten all that junk food for breakfast – why not go burn it off?

 

So that’s what he does. He goes to the gym, for the first time wonderfully, calmly, confidently alone.

 

*-*

 

Noctis is home when Prompto gets back. Prompto has only just stepped through the door when Noctis appears in the hallway, eyes wide in worry.

 

‘Hi honey, I’m home.’ Prompto grins, but Noctis’ amusement is a weak thing.

 

‘You were gone when I got back.’

 

‘Uh, yeah, I went to the gym. Is that … okay?’

 

‘What? Yeah, of course that’s okay.’ Noctis’ expression doesn’t seem to agree and Prompto’s confidence wanes.

 

‘It was just I woke up and no one was here. I didn’t think it would be a problem.’

 

‘Of course it’s not a problem, Prom. Don’t be silly.’

 

There’s still something tense in Noctis, but Prompto drops the matter, heading towards the bathroom. ‘So what was up this morning, anyway?’

 

‘Luna’s back.’

 

Prompto stops in the doorway, looking back at Noctis whose expression is marred by a slight frown. ‘That’s great! That’s great, right?’

 

‘Yeah… yeah, it’s great.’

 

Prompto should be intrigued, excited, should want to drop everything to hear about this miracle. But his insides are twisting, and he’s happy for Noctis, and for Luna especially, but there’s something about the principle of it – _the love of Noctis’ life is back_ – that has Prompto needing an escape.

 

‘I’m gonna take a shower, okay Noct? And then you can tell me all about it.’

 

Noctis attempts another smile, nodding, and Prompto knows he can’t leave it like this because Noctis looks sort of sad. After last night, Prompto feels even more like he should know how to cheer Noctis up. But he has no ideas. Especially now knowing Noct likely just wants to run back to Luna.

 

‘Like I said, shower. Unless you want to join me?’

 

The joke is a weak thing, and comes out as the most legitimate and nervous proposition Prompto has ever made, despite, for once, having no designs on a prince he can’t help but fantasize about regularly. Noctis doesn’t even really notice, answering suddenly, ‘sorry, I’ve got a thing. But uh, there’s a banquet tonight, a celebration… for Luna. Honestly, if I were her I’d just want to sleep but… it’s a victory, I guess. They want it on TV asap. Anyway, yeah, I’ll see you then, probably.’

 

Noctis spins and leaves the suite. Prompto is left saying goodbye to empty air.

 

*-*

 

It’s been a long time since Prompto has arrived to something alone. He’d gotten used to it, the weight at his side, the confidence that comes from support. The doors leading to the hall become so much larger, so much more daunting, and he wonders how he used to do this all the time.

 

It becomes a question he asks regularly throughout the night.

 

When he steps in, his eyes instinctively search for Noctis. Like a beacon, he’s drawn to the other prince, eyes catching on the dark haired boy stood in the opposite corner with the white haired girl. Like that, the first brick of his carefully constructed wall breaks free.

 

He grabs some champagne and tries to mingle, but he’s out of practice. It’s like trying to use someone else’s gun; all weighted wrong and you just don’t know how to settle your hand. Every time he takes a shot, the kick throws back his arms and bruises his shoulders. By the end of the evening he’s going to be a mess.

 

It’s fine, he thinks, they are only on canapés. At dinner he’ll be seated beside Noctis and then they’ll have no other option but to interact.

 

Instead, it’s like they’ve travelled months back in time. Noctis is stiff, eyes avoiding straying to the left so as not to risk making eye contact with the Niflheim prince. Luna is seated further along the table, and Prompto watches Noctis watch her.

 

At one point he tries to rest his hand over Noctis’ on the table. The other prince slides his hand away and focuses intently on his drink, bursting into conversation with the stranger sitting across from him.

 

Prompto puts a great deal of attention into his plate and eats every scrap. As soon as it’s socially acceptable, Noctis is out of his seat and escaping to the other side of the room.

 

*-*

 

Prompto banishes himself to the balcony. It’s a cool night, hinting towards the approaching autumn but not yet quite willing to let go of summer. He’s lost count of how many flutes of champagne he has had by this point and spends his time spinning the glass on the handrail.

 

‘We always seem to find ourselves meeting like this, don’t we?’

 

Prompto had forgotten the sound of Luna’s voice, this delicate but sort of sharp thing, strong like crystal. He glances over his shoulder and sure enough, there she is, radiant.

 

‘Noctis is inside,’ Prompto says, ‘Probably looking for you too.’

 

‘I’m not looking for Noctis.’

 

Prompto takes the last swig in his glass as Luna arrives at the handrail beside him.

 

‘I have something for you, Prompto.’

 

He pauses, intrigued, and finally settles the glass down on a nearby table. Luna is holding something out to him that catches the light, shining between her fingers. He reaches out to take it and regrets it immediately, tries to drop it but can’t because Luna is forcing his fingers to wrap around the object.

 

‘I don’t want it.’

 

‘Take it, Prompto, please.’

 

‘But I don’t.’

 

‘Keep it as a reminder.’

 

‘Why would I want any sort of reminders of that place?’

 

Having pushed the fist holding the item to his chest, Luna now stands close. She raises a hand to cup Prompto’s chin, guiding his eyes to hers.

 

‘Keep it to remind you that Niflheim doesn’t only make monsters, Prompto.’

 

Accidentally, and he blames the drink, Prompto lets loose a light whine of pain.

 

‘I’m told the crystals are mined just outside of the capital. It doesn’t get more purely Niflheim than that.’

 

‘Please don’t make me keep it.’

 

‘I know how you feel. They gave it to me as a gift. They wanted me to be honoured by their attention. That’s why I can’t keep this – because for me, to keep it would be to cave. But for you – if you were to keep it, you’d be doing it yet again; claiming your heritage against your father’s wishes.’

 

Prompto stays silent, because he knows she’s right. When she loosens her grip on his fist, he stays clutching the object. Her free hand joins the one on Prompto’s cheek so that she is cupping his face, smiling in that same way again, with the sad eyes and too much knowledge in her irises.

 

‘Niflheim can make beautiful things, Prompto. It made you.’

 

He can bring himself to say nothing else, and soon Luna walks away and disappears inside. Once she is gone he opens his fist inside of which is a slim silver hair pin, diamonds flashing along its length. The style is distinctive, and Prompto can see his father’s taste in the design.

 

Closing his fist, he almost, _almost_ throws the pin away from him, can already imagine it flashing once more in the light as it tumbles the long distance to the ground. Instead, he tucks the pin away, makes his way back through the banquet hall and disappears back to Noctis’ suite.

 

*-*

 

‘What has that poor boy done to you this time?’

 

Noctis is sat hunched against a bookshelf on the upstairs balcony. Through the slats he looks down at the banquet hall below. A while back he saw Prompto burrow his way through, escaping behind the doors. He wants to follow, to run after his friend and apologise and maybe play some video games or maybe go for a drive or maybe just have another sleepover or whatever it was that they did. But he can’t bring himself to do any of those things, so he stays hiding with the books and drinking himself away instead.

 

Another glass of champagne appears in the corner of his eye and he takes it from Luna, swigging half before she’s even folded down on the floor beside him. Managing to do so in that dress is sort of impressive.

 

‘He’s got inside me,’ Noctis mutters.

 

‘Funny,’ Luna muses, ‘I would have taken you for more of a top.’

 

Noctis frowns in confusion for a second then grimaces in disgust. ‘Can we please not. I meant he’s inside my head.’

 

‘Is that why you’re running away?’

 

‘Do we really have to have this conversation?’

 

Noctis finally looks over at Luna and, unlike earlier in the evening, his eyes are red around the edges. Luna leans over and rests her head on his shoulder, he in turn resting his cheek on the top of her head.

 

Once he’s finished yet another glass of champagne, Noctis asks, ‘do you think we would’ve worked?’

 

Luna takes a moment to consider her answer. ‘Yes, I think we would have worked. But that’s not what you’re asking. Do I think we would have worked better than you and Prompto? Honestly, not a chance.’

 

Noctis nods, accepting. ‘How’s Nyx?’

 

Luna’s reply comes slow. ‘He’s good. Why do you ask?’

 

‘Do I need to have the talk? You know, break her heart and I’ll break your face kind of thing.’

 

‘Wow. You picked up on that.’

 

‘I’ve been trying to put more effort into reading other people.’

 

‘I really don’t think Nyx and I are that serious yet, honestly. It’s just… a vibe.’

 

‘A _vibe_?’

 

‘Don’t be mean, Noctis Caelum. And anyway, Nyx could take you sixteen different ways to Sunday, so there’s no point in you threatening him.’

 

‘Rude.’

 

‘Meanwhile, I think I need to have the talk with you. Break that gentle blonde’s heart and I’ll be breaking your face.’

 

‘Wait, are you talking about Prompto? How the hell would I break his heart?’

 

‘What was that you were saying about reading other people?’

 

‘It’s just… not like that with Prompto. Things are complicated.’ He thinks about Prompto holding his hand at dinner, the warmth, the damn electricity, and his sudden urge to run away from it. ‘Things are really complicated.’

 

‘Why were you avoiding him tonight?’

 

‘How do you know that’s not just standard? You haven’t been around.’

 

‘Because he was lost, and so were you. You were both wandering around like two depressed headless chickens the whole night.’

 

‘Lost, huh? Funny you should phrase it like that.’

 

‘Why?’

 

‘Don’t worry. It’s… it’s what Clarus said. And then Ignis. About trusting Prompto. They’re right, y’know? I haven’t been offered any proof yet. Just between one day and the next I decided I trusted him, completely. I’ve just shut off the sensible voice in my head and tumbled headfirst into whatever this thing is. And I did it _by accident_.’

 

‘Don’t listen to what Clarus said. He’s an old fogie. As for Ignis, you know he’s just trying to give you options. He likes Prompto, a lot. I only spoke to him a little tonight, but that much is clear.’

 

‘But how does any of that make Prompto trustworthy?’ Noctis stops, leans away so he can stare into Luna’s eyes, and it’s with such desperation, like he really is searching for an answer.

 

All Luna can do is shrug. ‘It’s just instinct, Noct. What does your heart say?’

 

Noctis scoffs, looks back down at the banquet. ‘You’re the oracle; aren’t you meant to have more answers than that?’

 

‘I don’t know everything.’

 

‘I know. I’m sorry.’ Leaning back over to sling one arm around Luna’s shoulders, Noctis tugs her into a hug. ‘I’m sorry.’

 

‘You have so many things you’re going to need to worry about in this life of yours. Don’t make Prompto be one of them. Don’t think about it too much. If you could be anywhere right now, with anyone, where would you want to be?’

 

*-*

 

Prompto is rubbing his eyes, already half asleep when he wanders up to answer the incessant knocking at his bedroom door. He’s not sure who else it would be – Ignis, Gladio maybe? – but is still surprised to find Noctis there. Rather than the suit he wore earlier in the night, he wears grey jogging bottoms and a loose black t-shirt. Not to mention a smile that’s sheepish as hell.

 

Which is lucky because Prompto goes from sad to fucking pissed at sixty miles per hour.

 

‘Done ignoring me, are we?’

 

Noctis has the decency to wince. ‘Yeah, I know I’ve been shitty all day, but – ’

 

‘Shitty is putting it lightly. After all that stuff you said about helping me out, about _being there for each other_ , literally twenty four hours ago, and now you’re freezing me out? That’s not on, Noct.’

 

‘I know, okay, but with Luna coming back it was a lot to take in today.’

 

‘So I could have helped you! I was happy for you.’

 

‘Were you, because you looked like you wanted to fucking bolt this morning?’

 

Prompto’s eyes flash and his hand clenches around the door, desperate to turn into fists. ‘This is my fault now?’

 

‘What? No, of course not.’

 

‘I was confused this morning. You were gone, and then apparently pissed that I went to the fucking gym, and then for some reason depressed about the fact that your girlfriend is back. I was just trying to figure out what was going on.’

 

‘My girlfriend?’

 

‘Speaking of, shouldn’t you be running back to her. She’s probably looking for you.’

 

Prompto goes to slam the bedroom door shut but Noctis catches it with one hand, grabbing for Prompto with the other.

 

‘Look, you’re perfectly justified in being angry with me. Tomorrow we can have an argument. A full on domestic, if you want. We can go in the kitchen and you can throw pots and pans at me. But right now, it’s late, and I haven’t slept properly for two days and I just want another sleepover. So can we maybe just go to bed?’

 

And yeah, he’s still angry as hell, embarrassed and self-conscious, replaying the whole night over and over in his head, trying to find where he could have done something differently. But in what world was Prompto Argentum made strong enough to say no to that?


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~ Finally ~

Noctis wakes up alone in Prompto’s bed the next morning but he can hear the television going in the next room. As much as he wants to roll over and go back to sleep, he knows he needs to apologise.

 

He doesn’t know whether bursting into Prompto’s room in the early hours of the morning and begging to share a bed is counted in that apology.

 

Prompto is laid out on the sofa, feet propped on the armrest, neck bent at an awkward angle to watch the videogame on screen. The occasional explosion and round of gunfire blare from the speakers.

 

Noctis perches on the side of an armchair, eyes trained on the television. ‘I thought shooters weren’t your thing?’

 

‘Nope.’ Prompto accentuates this with a particularly aggressive push of the buttons that’s followed by a chain of explosions on the screen.

 

‘Out of curiosity… I mean, you shoot. That’s literally your thing. So… uh… why don’t you? Like shooters… that is.’

 

A pause, so long Noctis thinks he isn’t going to get an answer. ‘Too real, I guess. Or not real enough. What does it matter to you?’

 

Noctis can plainly read an answer to that rhetorical question is not wanted. ‘You could’ve… slept in instead, or something, I don’t know.’ Not what Noctis was intending to say.

 

‘What I _wanted_ to do,’ Prompto says, explosions raging on the screen and every press of his fingers on the controller getting more aggressive, ‘was go to the gym.’

 

‘You could’ve done that.’

 

‘Really? Yesterday I got the impression that I’m something of a trained dog who should know not to leave the house without supervision.’

 

Noctis frowns down at his friend. ‘You’re not seriously still hung up on that, are you? I told you, you can do what you like.’

 

Prompto scoffs and throws the controller down onto the opposite sofa, glaring at it. Noctis watches as Prompto deflates. The darker prince shifts, drifting over to knock the other’s feet off the armrest so that he can perch there instead. From this angle he can see where Prompto’s eyebrows are furrowed, eyes trained on his fingers as they fiddle in his lap.

 

‘What did I do this time, Noct?’

 

‘You didn’t do anything.’ Noctis is spending a frustrating amount of time feeling guilty these days.

 

‘But I… I can’t keep walking around on eggshells. We had – I had such a good time the other night, and then the next day you were… Last night just really sucked, okay?’

 

Noctis sighs, hating himself, and sinks down onto the sofa. Prompto shifts his legs out of the way and Noctis crosses his legs over so he can face Prompto with his back to the armrest. Once he’s settled, he drags Prompto’s feet back into his lap. The strange developments of their dynamic are a problem for another time, and right now Noctis just wants to make sure Prompto knows he’s _there_.

 

‘You don’t have to walk on eggshells, okay? It was my own issues that I was dealing with, and in case you haven’t noticed, neither of us have particularly good coping mechanisms.’

 

‘But you weren’t like that with anyone else.’

 

Prompto has never been so openly insecure, and it hits Noctis in that moment just how much Prompto has come to lean on his other prince. Because Luna was right: last night Prompto wasn’t capable of standing on his own. Noctis wasn’t much better, but at least he never has been.

 

‘Look,’ Noctis begins, finger tracing the sofa by Prompto’s leg, ‘I was annoyed that no one had told me there was a rescue mission out for Luna. And I took that annoyance out on you because… because you were why they didn’t tell me.’ Noctis looks back up at Prompto from under his bangs, worried about what he’ll find. Prompto’s feet shift, as though he wants to retract them, but there is no confusion on his face, just hurt. This whole apology/fixing things attempt is not going well.

 

‘I thought you guys were starting to trust me.’

 

‘We are. _I_ am. But everyone else, they don’t know you like I do.’

 

‘That’s not my fault.’

 

‘None of this is your fault, Prom. I guess it’s just another side effect of your shitty lot in life.’ There’s something to be said for tough love, Noctis concedes, but the way Prompto is suddenly trying to blink away tears makes Noctis seriously regret his words.

 

The regret only gets worse when Prompto tears his legs away and stalks off into the hallway. Noctis follows at a scrambling rush, almost tripping over the sofa. ‘Why are you always fucking running away?’ Noctis is muttering more to himself, because he knows it’s not fair to ask the blonde that.

 

But Prompto spins on him anyway, glaring, faltering only in the face of Noctis’ earnest expression. ‘Look, Noct. Here’s the deal. I’m _fine_. I always am. I’ve been on my own my whole life leading up until now, and I can go back to that. I can. I can’t… I can’t promise how long I’ll last, but I know I can at least settle back in to who I used to be.

 

‘But if this goes on for much longer, then I’m not sure I’ll be able to do that. If I… let myself believe in this, believe in you… Then this is it. This is me, letting myself go. But I have to _know_.’

 

Noctis can only stare into that pleading expression, a thousand words spinning around his head that he wants to say, but none that feel like enough to fix this. Prompto is such a strange creature, made of steel one second and sand the next.

 

But contrary to his previous speech, like some internal battle has been raging and lost in those few quiet moments, Prompto says one more thing that breaks Noctis down, barely a whisper through his torn throat. ‘I can’t be on my own again.’

 

Noctis stumbles forward, hand sliding up Prompto’s arm, squeezing, eyes burning into Prompto even if the boy won’t look up, desperate to impress just how serious he is when he makes his promise.

 

‘You’re not alone, Prompto. I won’t let you be.’

 

*-*

 

Luna seems much more rested than last night, even having had only one night of sleep, and even that following a party.

 

Nocits prefers seeing her like this, in her rooms, curled in loungewear and a cosy smile, her hair still perfect. They both seem like more themselves.

 

‘I came to say thanks,’ Noctis says, taking up the seat opposite.

 

‘And for what would that be, pray tell?’

 

‘What you said yesterday… about Prompto. I’m pretty sure he’s still pissed at me – he ate all the Weetos – but we’re getting somewhere.’

 

Luna arches an eyebrow. ‘Have you thought that maybe he… ate all the Weetos because he was hungry?’

 

‘Luna. He doesn’t even _like_ Weetos.’

 

The oracle simply laughs. ‘You two are certainly a matching pair.’

 

‘Yeah, well. Anyway. Thanks.’

 

‘As ever, Noctis, I am glad to act as your personal marriage councilor.’

 

Although she means it in all light heartedness, realization twists inside Noctis. ‘Astrals, Luna. I haven’t even asked about you. After everything… How are you?’

 

Luna looks away, eyes watching as she traces her finger through the condensation on the side of her water glass. ‘Better than most are expecting me to be, it seems. In upbringings such as ours, Noct, we become prepared for the extreme, do you not find?’

 

‘I don’t see how anyone can be prepared for what it must be like stuck with the Niffs.’

 

‘Yet there are those who survive anyway. You must simply look at Prompto, for one, to see that it is possible to come out on the other side of the worst.’

 

A crease grows between Noctis’ eyebrows. ‘Prompto is one of the most damaged individuals I have ever met.’

 

‘And yet you would have to know him intimately to see it.’

 

‘You’re deflecting.’

 

‘I am.’

 

‘I’m your friend, Luna. I want to help.’

 

‘And I appreciate the thought. But honestly, it is not in my nature to go around gushing to my friends about bad thoughts and bad dreams. At my worst times, I am much more inclined to throw myself into aiding others. You know this.’

 

Noctis slouches, conceding to the point. He may need Luna to intervene in his life, but she has always been three steps ahead. How is he supposed to help lead her from behind? ‘What will you do now?’

 

Luna sits up straighter, looks back at him rather than watching the glass, apparently thankful that the moment has now passed. ‘What is most important right now is that the citizens don’t see us giving up. You and Prompto did well the other day, brushing Iedolas off, and that gives me confidence that, for once, I don’t have to worry so much about my own appearances to the people. I have been discussing with Nyx and the king potentially leading infiltration trips into the borders. We can take in more valuable supplies, but also find out more information of our own. Informants are more likely to trust us if they can look their living Oracle in the eye.’

 

‘Go back? Are you crazy?’

 

‘No, I’m not crazy. It is dangerous. But if I can get out once then surely I can do it again. And this time they won’t even be watching for me.’

 

Noctis opens his mouth, fear striking his insides, but what can he say? Luna has proved time and again that she is capable of handling herself, and her reasoning is logical. She seems to read the fear in his widened eyes.

 

‘We must all do our part, Noctis.’

 

‘Funny,’ Noctis smiles wirily, ‘people seem to keep telling me that.’

 

*-*

 

‘You didn’t send her away because I was acting all… jealous, right? Not that I’m jealous. I just… the other night I said some shitty things. But I’m sure she’s nice, I – ’

 

‘She left because she wanted to, Prom, don’t worry. She apparently feels there are other places she can be of more help, with us handling the people’s morale effectively enough ourselves.’

 

Little more than three days after her arrival, Noctis and Prompto are watching from the top windows of the citadel as an inconspicuous trail of black vehicles takes Lunafreya and her new team of Kingsglaive soldiers out to the wild lands of Insomnia. Prompto keeps glancing at Noctis as though waiting for him to get upset. Strangely, Noctis doesn’t feel it. Both he and Luna have their roles, and it’s easier to accept her absence knowing that.

 

It wasn’t not having her that left Noctis in a grieving state, it was knowing that Niflheim _did_. So long as she is free and happy, that is enough for him. She’s not for him, not anymore.

 

And, after all, he has Prompto.

 

‘Aren’t you going to miss her?’

 

Turning away from the city he faces the blonde sat across from him. They’re curled in the alcove of a large window, each leaning against an opposite wall. The sun catches through the glass, smattering Prompto’s pale skin with abstract patterns. He’s like a sculpture, Noctis thinks, staring at the figure that barely seems to be breathing as it keeps its eyes fixed to the skyline.

 

‘Of course,’ says Noctis.

 

‘Perhaps, after all this is over, you’ll finally get to be together.’

 

Prompto doesn’t sound hurt by the idea. But he doesn’t sound happy either. Not hopeful, nor distraught. It’s simply an idea, an ambition he presumes Noctis to harbor. Noctis hadn’t been blind to Prompto’s suspicions, but had merely been hoping to escape facing them. Lying to himself is much easier when he doesn’t have to lie to Prompto as well.

 

So why bother trying?

 

‘I don’t think so.’

 

‘Why’s that?’

 

‘She… she has Nyx now. And it’d be pretty shitty of me to separate them.’

 

‘I’m sorry, Noct.’

 

‘Don’t be. I’m not.’

 

Prompto glances over, incapable of hiding his surprise.

 

Noctis tries to smile. ‘I think we’re all long past childhood fantasies, don’t you?’

 

After a short hesitation, Pormpto matches Noctis with a shaky smile and turns his eyes back to the outside.

 

‘Iggy has a brief of the week ready for us, if you’re up for it?’

 

Noctis nudges Prompto’s foot with his own, a burst of relief flowing through him when Prompto doesn’t shift away. Noctis knows he keeps almost ruining it, whatever this thing is, but it’s good to know he can keep saving it.

 

‘Sure. Let’s go.’

 

*-*

 

When Noctis gets stressed, he and Prompto train.

 

Considering Noctis’ usual habit is to avoid physical exertion as much as possible, Prompto is a touch surprised, but is more than willing to entertain the prince so long as he gets to keep practicing his shot. The Kingsglaive armory has some great weapons, even if he doesn’t have the ability to summon them at will like the rest of the individuals who train inside the citadel walls.

 

So when it’s late one night, and Noctis is becoming a touch stir crazy because they haven’t had any jobs to do for a while, Prompto suggests sparring. Noctis is quiet on the sofa for a few moments, before his head shifts just to the side. ‘Sure. But… just, follow me.’

 

When they leave the suite, Noctis takes them to opposite route than usual, taking the elevator up to the top levels of the building. Prompto has rarely been so high outside of official events and it’s strange to walk the grand halls when they are so empty. Even stranger is the balcony, usually lit by great braziers and hanging chandeliers, now full of emptiness and the same not-darkness that constantly permeates Insomnia’s skyline.

 

Noctis walks to the edge of the balcony and leans over the side. Rather than looking down, he twists his neck so he can see up to the overhang far on the floors above. Without looking over, he gestures for Prompto to follow him. The blonde does so, but cautiously, keeping a careful few feet between them.

 

Finally, the Lucian prince notices Prompto’s hesitancy and a twist of amusement mars his features. ‘I always forget that we talk so much about me trusting you that I never really thought about it being a problem the other way around.’

 

‘I trust you, bro. But you’re _very_ close to the edge.’

 

‘Yeah, I’m going to need to be. C’mon, man, it’ll be fun. I swear.’ Noctis is holding out an arm, inviting Prompto to slip into it, and so maybe just being that close would be enough to get the blonde to walk over hot coals.

 

Noctis drags Prompto closer with a hand wrapped around the other’s waist. Prompto is practically shoved against the other prince’s chest, palms pressed to the warm skin through his t-shirt. The heat is somewhat distracting.

 

Not distracting enough to leave him blind to the burst of crystal shards and a suddenly appearing sword. Prompto instinctively goes to jerk away but Noctis has him in a vice grip. Which is lucky, too, because in the next moment Noctis is throwing the sword away and they’re warping level by level up the side of the citadel, not stopping the zigzagging motions until they land on the scaffolding like levels of the roof.

 

When they land Noctis goes to move away but finds he can’t because Prompto is gripping him with claws, wide eyes strapped to the ground which is very very far away right now.

 

‘Hey, man, you okay?’

 

‘We’re on the roof.’

 

‘Yeah, pretty awesome, right?’

 

‘We’re going to die.’

 

Prompto’s voice is shaking and Noctis finally realizes the guy is genuinely terrified, body and voice trembling, legs only keeping him standing because they’ve locked, determined that if they loosen he is going to be thrown off to the cement a hundred floors away.

 

Noctis drifts closer, sliding both arms around Prompto’s body in a non-alarming support. Instinctively, Prompto shifts closer, gripping to the safety, but still he doesn’t stop staring at the ground. It’s amazing, Noctis thinks, how the lights blend in to Prompto, highlighting his freckles, catching on his eyes, transforming him into something that belongs, and all he really wants is for Prompto to _look up_.

 

With this goal in mind, Noctis leans down, nose catching on Prompto’s hair, lips brushing his ear. ‘Prompto,’ he whispers, ‘look.’

 

And because it’s Noctis who’s asking, Prompto obviously listens, and when he raises his head, eyes absorbing the city, his world transforms. Insomnia at night, a city of colour and brightness, like a glowing orb of life, it’s everything every scripture and promise held of heaven. From their vantage on the cliff, the distant city had been impressive but just that… distant. Untouchable.

 

But now it surrounds them, encloses them, protects them.

 

Prompto isn’t going to fall. The city holds him too closely.

 

Swallowing, the blonde asks, ‘I thought we were going to train.’

 

‘I am. I warped, didn’t I?’

 

‘But…’

 

‘Stop worrying, Prompto. You wanted to help me relax, right?’

 

A nod.

 

‘Then we’re here, in my favourite place in the world. And I’m with you. This is enough, so just… do me a favour?’

 

‘Of couse.’

 

‘Just _be_.’

 

So that’s what they do, watching over the ghostly silhouette of their shining city. They exist, together.

 

*-*

 

Lunafreya’s rescue and subsequent reappearance in the work against Niflheim reinvigorates the public, and further saves the potential fallout from Tenebrae’s fall. As such, Prompto and Noctis are able to settle back into the routine of their lives surprisingly smoothly, considering during those days it felt as though the world had been thrown upside down.

 

There are maybe a few things that the oblivious Noctis would change if he could bring himself to say something. For instance, he’d go back to having sleepovers, more than ones where they have both accidentally fallen asleep on the sofas, at least. But the idea of bringing them up, asking for them, feels almost as daunting as the prospect of facing the sparks whenever Prompto brushes too closely (another aspect of life he craves but determinedly ignores in his head). So he keeps quiet.

 

Their relationship in front of the cameras only grows stronger, until the public seems to think of them as friends, family, even. It’s strange to have everyone think they know you. More so, Noctis thinks, when they supposedly believe in a lie carefully constructed by Prompto’s planning.

But they stick with it, enjoying it even. Still, Noctis is unbelievably unprepared when it finally comes. Prompto is so entirely dedicated to this whole “working marriage” thing that Noctis really should have seen it coming.

 

But he didn't.

 

And they really should have talked about it first.

 

But they didn't.

 

*-*

 

Noctis used to hate parades, used to hate the way he knew the whole world was looking harder than it usually did.

 

But then Prompto came along, and frankly the whole episode became worth it just to see that boy in a suit with his hair done up in that perfect prince way (and maybe Noctis liked it best messy, all tufty and poked up from lounging around in bed, but damn the gods if he couldn't appreciate this too).

 

So the parades became sort of worth it to ride beside him in an open topped car. Noctis could handle the speeches if they involved some sort of flashing conspiratorial smile between himself and his husband. He felt, finally, proud of something, even if it was just his husband - even if he hadn't had much of a say in the marriage in the first place.

 

There's applause, and cheering, and the speech went so so well and there's streamers in the air, falling from the sky scrapers and balloons rising in the distance and upon the closing note someone starts to sing and Prompto is there and Prompto is grinning and Prompto is kissing him

 

Prompto

 

Prompto is kissing him

 

Noctis

 

Prompto and Noctis are kissing

 

And of all the things to think about what is clearly Prompto's next big Play to the crowds, Noctis does not expect to think

 

_Finally_.

 

*-*


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm p sure anyone who's read any of my other fics will know i have a ~thing~ for neck kisses... so uh... here's a continuation of that ig

 

No one reacts.

 

At least, not anymore than they would to any other successfully pulled off speech. The crowd cheers on, the cameras flash and Noctis, for all he tries, cannot stop smiling.

 

The kiss had been hesitant, barely more than a peck, but it was enough for Noctis’ eyes to slip shut and for him to start to lean into it. A blush is rising on Prompto’s cheeks afterwards but only Noctis is close enough to notice because otherwise the Niflheim prince is fully back on script. A few steps behind, Noctis joins him.

 

*-*

 

Noctis keeps thinking about it.

 

He thinks about it as they walk off the stage. He thinks about it as they pose for pictures. He thinks about it when Prompto’s arm is wrapped around his waist, or his hand is in Noctis’, or when they catch each other’s eye across the room.

 

He keeps thinking about it and he never wants to stop.

 

The day moves on, the sun sets, and the two boys and their entourage head home. It’s just like any other day, apart from the way Noctis’ planet has moved two inches to the left and he’s sure the days must be longer from hereon in because of it. He plans on spending all that extra time thinking about it.

 

Noctis is still in a daze by the time they are back in the palace suite. The dark of the late evening is pushed away by the fluorescent kitchen lights. Though Noctis sits silently at the island counter in the centre of the room, Prompto bumbles around him, whistling and bouncing as he throws a late night sandwich together.

 

‘You want one, Noct?’

 

Noctis makes a sound that doesn’t really mean anything but apparently it’s enough of an answer for Prompto because he doesn’t turn around. His attention is entirely on the food, his head down, neck bent to reveal to bare patch of skin between his hair and his low hanging t-shirt. A character a world away from the Prompto who kissed Noctis today.

 

They’re both a world away from the kiss.

 

Struck suddenly by an almost paralyzing fear, Noctis’ hands clench into fists. What if he is stuck in this trance only to suffer for it? What if the whole thing really was merely a ruse for the public, truly the most likely scenario? Prompto has never said anything, done anything, to suggest that inside these walls he wants anything more.

 

Has he?

 

Prompto is still whistling and Noctis is still watching. Still terrified. Still wanting.

 

Seemingly of their own violation, Noctis’ legs are lifting him from his seat and padding him over to Prompto, slowly, like approaching a deer, so much so that the other prince doesn’t notice him coming. Not until he feels Noctis’ hand resting on his waist does his whistling cut off, his hands freezing.

 

Noctis comes back to himself, just, enough to consider that maybe this is too far, that maybe Prompto has frozen in fear, a rejection stuck in his throat. But no, this is Prompto, and Noctis knows – hopes to know, at least – that Prompto would say something, break the moment with a joke or a laugh if he wanted to break it at all.

 

So Noctis doesn’t stop himself. He bends down and presses a kiss to the exposed skin on the back of Prompto’s neck, holding himself there, nose buried in the musky scent of hair and skin, eyes sliding shut as he presses his forehead to the back of Prompto’s head.

 

Prompto doesn’t pull away. Prompto doesn’t do anything at all.

 

Noctis shifts a little, presses his body closer along Prompto’s back, lifting from his kiss only to press another in the arch of Prompto’s shoulder, where his neck meets his collarbone. He lets his tongue dart out, just briefly, enough to get a hint of the salty taste of skin. By the time his eyes open, mouth still pressed to skin, he finds Prompto has dropped everything. Instead, his hands clutch at the edge of the counter hard enough that his knuckles turn white. His entire body is arching now, head falling back to give Noctis more access, entirely instinctive, entirely craving.

 

Confidence now boosted, Noctis uses his light hold on Prompto’s waist to spin him. Prompto goes limply, turning so that he is pressed between the counter and his dark haired prince.

 

It hardly seems fair that Prompto looks good even in the glaring lights of the kitchen, but he does, cheeks flushed and eyes bright. Noctis raises a hand to cup Prompto’s face, thumb tracing his eyebrow, the line of his cheekbone, the curve of his lip. They hardly seem to be breathing, either of them.

 

There are questions hanging between them both, but to ask seems far too dangerous. For once, it is the scariest action that seems the safest. So Noctis steals himself and leaps.

 

It had been paltry, that kiss on the stage. A fiction. An action created in the image of the real thing. It hadn’t, after all his thinking and hoping and dwelling, prepared Noctis for the real thing at all.

 

Because the real thing knocks his whole planet out of orbit.

 

The kiss is Prompto: soft but smooth, warm but fragile, clumsy but perfect.

 

If their first kiss was a drop of rain on the cheek, their second was dipping a toe in the water. Their third is drowning.

 

Any walls or hesitations either of them still harbored dissolve. Prompto clutches at Noctis’ shoulders, the other prince in turn wrapping his arms around Prompto’s waist to hold him as close as possible. It’s all gasping and grinning and tongues. So maybe it’s far from graceful or skilled, it hardly seems to matter. What matters is Prompto’s leg hooked around Noctis’ waist and Noctis’ hands sliding beneath Prompto’s shirt.

 

It’s a final barrier, and it’s gone. Though it seems like such a simple thing as a kiss should be one of the first and not one of the last steps of a relationship, it matters little now. Everything is forgotten in the face of it.

 

If their first kiss was _Finally_ , their tenth, fiftieth, hundredth kiss is _Always_.

 

*-*

 

Prompto wakes up to the sun.

 

He forgot to close the curtains, again, but he really, _really_ doesn’t mind.

 

Noctis is still asleep, stray lines of hair being the only thing to shade his eyelids from the morning light. One hand rests on the pillow, fingers clutching loosely at air, the other settled on his own bare hip. His toned chest catches the lightest smattering of shadows. Prompto traces the lines with his eyes, then a finger hovering just close enough to the skin to tingle. Other than a fluttering of his eyelashes, Noctis doesn’t stir.

 

Memories, the ghosts of sensation, threaten to drown Prompto, and he might almost let them if it weren’t for the promising potential of more spread in bed beside him. A smirk growing in the corners of his mouth, he leans down to press a kiss to Noctis’ stomach, turning his smile away only when he settles down to pillow his head against his prince’s side, fingers fiddling idly at the waistband of Noctis’ pants.

 

With the drifty movements of someone more asleep than awake, Prompto feels Noctis card his fingers through the messy strands of blonde hair. He closes his eyes to it, enjoying the sensation, relishing the gentle intimacy.

 

When he turns his face the other way he finds that Noctis is awake, watching with a small, natural smile. ‘Morning, sunshine.’

 

Prompto almost can’t stand it. Grinning, he whispers, ‘say that again.’

 

Noctis tugs him up by the hair and Prompto crawls up Noctis’ body. Noctis’ hands slide down Prompto’s bare chest and then back up, cupping his face and carding back through the blonde tufts again. ‘Morning,’ he repeats, dragging Prompto forward into a kiss, ‘my sunshine.’

 

Prompto has honest intentions of keeping it chaste. He really swears he does. But they’re like magnets, and once they start he doesn’t have the strength to drag himself away. Instead, he caves, happily and with relish, straddling Noctis and pulling him as close as possible. They’re both interested very quickly, and it is obvious, pressed as close as they are, so that when Prompto shifts they both end up gasping.

 

‘What did we say,’ Noctis murmurs, between kisses, ‘about… taking things… slow?

 

Letting up just enough to grin wickedly, Prompto winks, saying, ‘are you really sure that’s what you want?’

 

Though he meant it as a joke, Noctis’ heavy pause, the sudden stalling of his roaming hands, makes Prompto falter. Noctis stares at where his hand meets Prompto’s skin as he says, ‘This whole… concept is a little new to me, you know?’

 

Prompto tries to smile but he’s not so used to hiding himself with Noctis anymore and he is certain the tightness is obvious. ‘I get it, Noct. It’s no worries.’ He goes to clamber off of Noctis, but the other catches his hip before he can move away, flipping Prompto over and settling his weight down between the blonde’s legs.

 

‘I didn’t say I wasn’t having fun, you know.’ This time, Prompto’s matching grin is real, completely unrestrained as Noctis leans over him. ‘I just want to… grow accustomed to this, that’s all. I’m so good at ruining everything between us. I’m desperate not to fuck it all up, not this time, not when it could be the worst yet.’

 

Nodding, Prompto settles his hands on Noctis’ shoulders. ‘Whatever you want, Noct.’

 

‘One day,’ Noctis murmurs, hand splayed out on Prompto’s chest, speaking seemingly more to himself, ‘one day, I’m going to be the one to say that to you.’

 

*-*

 

‘So, uh, now what?’

 

Prompto, sitting cross-legged amongst the tousled sheets and amassed pillows of the bed, watches Noctis stretch in front of the window. The freedom with which his eyes roam the lines of the prince’s bare body bring a shock of thrill to his heart, something akin to happiness but at the same time so much more. Noctis looks over, face bordered by his disheveled hair, and Prompto’s heart almost stops.

 

Noctis cocks a sunbathed eyebrow. ‘What do you mean?’

 

‘I don’t know… like, it’s not even lunchtime yet. I just… feel like… it’s hard to explain.’

 

Noctis approaches the bed and reaches out his hands, inviting Prompto to take them. Though he tugs at the blonde, the other boy barely shifts, grinning when Noctis finds he’ll have to try much harder to get him up and is all the more likely to end up back between the sheets.

 

‘Nothing’s changed, Prom. We could watch movies, train, or I’m sure Iggy has a list of stuff he needs us to do.’

 

‘It feels like everything’s changed.’

 

‘Well,’ Noctis pauses, bringing one of Prompto’s palms to his lips, ‘isn’t that the beauty of it? That nothing’s changed, not really? We’re still us, just… _more_.’

 

Prompto struggles to think of what to say to that, so he does what feels natural. He leans up and kisses Noctis. As Noctis leans in for another, Prompto suddenly jerks away, leaping across the room in sudden bounds of energy to throw some clothes on. ‘In that case, _lunch_.’

 

Noctis, left bereft and mind still reeling, stares, making nothing but a grunt of confusion. Prompto mock glares over his shoulder as he leaves the room. ‘After all, a certain _someone_ distracted me from my sandwich.’

 

*-*

 

Prompto’s gym top is distressingly, distractingly, wonderfully tight.

 

They’re supposed to be sparring under the watchful eye of one of the best fighters the famous Kingsglaive has to offer. Noctis is sure they are likely to give up on the two useless boys soon. Hard as he might try, Noctis can’t focus.

 

He’s stood opposite Prompto, feet planted, arms up to guard – as they should be. Prompto matches his stance almost exactly. Rather than analyzing his opponent’s strengths and weaknesses like he should be, Noctis is admiring the pull of fabric against the hint of Prompto’s pecs, the line of skin hinted where the tank top isn’t quite long enough, the way his sweaty hair hangs loose of his head band in random strands to hang over his forehead. Anyone with just the tiniest amount of skill would be able to take Noctis down with a sudden movement, dazed as he is by memories of sensation.

 

Luckily, Prompto seems hardly in any state to take advantage of Noctis’ weakness. He can only suspect the blonde is similarly distracted.

 

It’s not to say, though, that they haven’t taken advantage of their training time. Wheezing jokes and grins punctuate every moment, echoing through the training chamber that is otherwise silent but for the clangs and grunts of other’s training. It feels as though laughter is as easy, is as essential as breathing. Mindless of the glances and glares shot their way, every sparkle of Prompto’s eye has Noctis determined to make him laugh again.

 

Not to mention, with every successful hit made in their mock fight comes the electricity. Noctis is certain that he is not the only one who hangs on a touch too long, pressing himself a touch too close every time he has the other in a hold. Prompto seems far from complaining, and were it not for the eyes of their instructors, Prompto would likely be pushing for more, encouraging Noctis to slot his body along his back, to hold him there, push him there, take him there.

 

Noctis’ flush isn’t entirely from exertion.

 

Prompto lunges forward for the punch, weighted with just too much force. If he had made the hit it would have hurt both of them. As it is, Noctis manages to dodge, Prompto’s wrapped knuckles grazing his arm and sliding past. Noctis’ training tells him to take the opening once again, which he does, in his own way.

 

Abandoning his fists, he wraps his arms around Prompto’s unbalanced body and lifts him practically onto his shoulder, carrying them both down onto the mats. There’s a pause in which the breath is knocked from his lungs, the floor a force against his back and Prompto’s whole weight pounding onto his chest. Then the moment breaks and they burst into yet another fit of laughter.

 

Distantly, their instructor scoffs and shakes her head. ‘Come back when you two are willing to take your training seriously.’ By the time Prompto has rolled off of Noctis their instructor has stalked off to take up more useful endeavors. As such, Prompto doesn’t bother to get back up again, letting himself relax bonelessly, a leg and an arm still strewn haphazardly over Noctis.

 

‘Can I be honest?’

 

Prompto glances over at the murmuring prince, grunting his curiosity.

 

With a smirk, Noctis whispers, ‘I’m really turned on right now.’

 

He had expected to get a laugh, maybe a scoff or an amused dismissal. Instead, he meets a heavy silence and hot depths in Prompto’s eyes that say they can definitely fix that. Noctis’ lungs are stripped of air and he’s suddenly hyper-aware of every place where they lay skin on skin.

 

Prompto swallows. ‘Can I kiss you right now?’

 

Anything. Anything else, and Noctis could have stayed there in that imagined moment of fantasy. Instead, a jolt of self-conscious fear has him glancing around at the uncaring glaives throughout the room. ‘Not here.’

 

Though he is clearly hurt, Prompto makes an effort not to show it. It might have worked if Noctis did not know him so well, know the dejection that lay in the heavy fall of his head back on the mat. He grazes his fingers over Prompto’s palm.

 

‘I’m sorry. It’s just complicated to explain. If anyone on the council –’

 

‘No.’

 

‘What?’

 

‘We’re not doing this. We’re not doing serious, not today. It’s day one. I refuse to let anything, let alone the real world, ruin our first day of this.’

 

‘Okay.’ Going by the sudden tenseness of the atmosphere, Noctis would argue that it is too late, but he isn’t going to be the one to make it even worse. Prompto turns away to watch the room instead.

 

Just when Noctis is about to suggest that they give up and head back to the suite – mostly in the hopes of relighting the spark that had seemed so promising throughout the afternoon – Prompto asks, ‘how does it work?’

 

Noctis glances over at Prompto’s indicating nod. Across the room some Glaives are sparring with summoned weapons, a risky activity for only the most well trained of partners. As the two princes watch a solider dismisses her spear, rolling out of reach of her opponent’s sword, only to rise gracefully from the floor in a shower of crystals as her spear reappears to take the point. If Noctis is right, he thinks he can almost read envy in Prompto’s eyes, finding the look disturbing in some deep and unknowable part of himself.

 

‘It’s a kind of… instinct, I guess. Like… how does your foot understand your brain when you tell it to turn around. For me it’s like… the weapons are a continuation of the self.’

 

‘But if it is the magic of Lucien kings that grants the power, how can so many use it?’

 

‘It only seems like so many because you’re always surrounded by them. The king’s magic is bestowed upon the members of the Kingsglaive as a divine gift. Not everyone is capable of wielding the power. It takes a… certain kind of person.’

 

Prompto is silent for a time and Noctis hopes that the conversation is ended. But then, ‘do you think I could?’

 

That Prompto won’t meet his eye seems purposeful this time. ‘I don’t know… maybe.’

 

When Prompto smiles, it’s something bitter and twisted. ‘Sorry for asking.’

 

‘What happened to ignoring the real world?’

 

Against his side, Prompto tenses and begins to pull away. Noctis reaches out to stop him, eyes urging Prompto to give a real answer. Which Prompto finally does: ‘honestly? I had expected you to say yes.’

 

Noctis feels somehow scolded, as though he has done something wrong once again, so he can bring himself to do nothing as Prompto frees himself and rises to his feet.

 

‘I’m going back to change.’

 

‘I’ll come with you.’

 

A flash in Prompto’s eyes makes Noctis think he might argue, but it passes as quickly as it comes. Their day had been so sweet, and they are both as desperate as the other to bring back all the sunshine. So Prompto nods, a shadow of his grin returning, and they walk from the training rooms together, arms brushing, a little less mindless of the few eyes that follow the peculiar pair.

 

*-*


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am so so so sorry about the wait 
> 
> huge thank you to everyone who enjoyed the last chapter and is still sticking it out with me!! 
> 
> as per usual thank you for all kudos and comments <333

Pure Niflheim diamonds are among the most valuable jewels on the planet. The amount used on the small slip of hair clip would sell for enough to feed a small town. Prompto knows. He attempted to encourage the mine’s investors to contribute to a refugee fund as a young teenager (they didn’t. And anyway, he was sent away long before he was old enough to be worth any real respect in their eyes – they probably didn’t even listen to his pitch).

 

They could be crafted into weapons and tools too, of course. The diamonds were not uncommon around the lab of Prompto’s middling teenage years (not that there he was in any position to touch – unless the diamond encrusted tool was being used upon him, if that can be said to count).

 

But Prompto cannot entertain the prospect of doing either with his newly acquired relic.

 

Instead, the hair clip remains hidden away at the back of his bedside draw, beneath a carefully haphazard piling of junk, wrapped in a silken pocket square. In quiet moments, when he is alone and in the dark, he slides the item from its hiding place and handles it with careful, almost fearful touches.

 

Despite rarely handling such valuable items – too young to be worthy when in his father’s good books, too useless to be worthy when older – the clip brings back memories, flashbacks, of both the good and the nightmares. He is, most certainly, a product of his home country, as much as he’d like to deny it.

 

As the days go by, he finds himself gravitating to the object more and more. When he’s stressed or uncertain, longing or lonely. For all those states should be dissipating with his newfound romance, it seems the opposite is the case. When Noctis is around the world could end and Prompto wouldn’t notice, wouldn’t care so long as Noctis is watching him as the world burns.

 

As soon as Noctis leaves, though, his world goes up in a flare of fire and it feels as though no one else seems to care enough to offer so much as a bottle of water. He becomes convinced that Noctis seeks an escape, that his meeting or activity is merely an excuse to get away from the blonde. At least the hair clip gives him something else to think about.

 

Gladio finds him.

 

‘You really got a thing for the dark, don’t ya?’

 

Prompto didn’t hear the shield knock, nor did he notice him open the door, yet he is there, blocking what little light enters from the hallway. Instinctively, he closes a fist around the hair clip and tucks it into the sleeve of his jumper, glancing around at the closed curtains and dark room to disguise the action. ‘Uh… not really.’

 

Gladio cocks an eyebrow and Prompto shrugs self-consciously, saying, ‘I was trying to take a nap.’

 

‘You never nap. You perpetually have the energy of a moogle on crack.’

 

‘You really pay that much attention to what I get up to?’

 

‘I pay a lot more attention than you two morons seem to think I do. Same with Iggy.’

 

Gladio saunters over to the windows and slides the curtains open. Prompto has to squint against the sudden brightness of the afternoon, suddenly conscious of the mess that is his room. With Noctis practically living there now his cleanliness habits had followed. Gladio toes at one of Noctis’ t-shirts, raising questioning eyes to the blonde. Prompto decides the safest action is feigned indifference and a not-so-feigned ignorance.

 

‘Which is whyyy,’ Gladio starts again, as though he hadn’t paused at all, ‘Iggy is having a chat with everyone’s favourite idiot as we speak.’

 

‘Okay… about what?’

 

‘Don’t play dumb, Prompto. We both know you’re a helluvalot smarter than you put on to everyone outside the walls of this suite. At least, I thought you were, until…’

 

‘Until?’

 

‘Seriously?’ When faced with Prompto’s genuine blankness, Gladio huffs and collapses into a computer chair. It whines and spins slowly as the shield tries to think of what to say. ‘I was not prepared for this fucking drama.’

 

‘Could you at least give me an idea of what you’re talking about?’

 

‘Why’d you two have to start fucking, huh?’

 

The sudden bluntness throws the blonde off kilter and he stares at Gladio, dumbstruck. His immediate reaction is an indignant self-consciousness. ‘What does it matter to you?’

 

‘Do you have any idea of the wider implications of this? How many plans this throws into the fire?’

 

Prompto scoffs. ‘We are married, you know.’

 

‘No. That’s what everyone outside these walls is supposed to think. But, inside? You two are meant to be bros. _Friends_.’

 

Gladio is glaring at him now, deadly serious. Prompto wants to be angry because it’s no one else’s business what he and Noctis are to each other. But Gladio is a big guy and he’s actually a little bit scared instead. ‘We’re not… we’re not fucking.’ His tongue wraps around the final word in disgust. Even if they were, Prompto would hesitate to degrade it so. They wouldn’t be fucking, they would be making lo – making Very Strong Affection.

 

‘Bullshit. I’m not blind, Prompto, and neither is Iggy. Eye fucking and hickeys and goddammit, Prom, you’re wearing his favourite t-shirt.’

 

Prompto raises a hand to clutch at the soft fabric, self-conscious despite a buzz of satisfaction in being recognised as Noctis’ – yes, he is wearing Noctis’ things, because he is one of Noctis’ things.

 

Gladio’s glare softens as he sees the fragility in Prompto’s soft face. ‘Look, kid, has Noctis explained anything to you? Or has he, as usual, just ran headlong into something without thinking it through, this time dragging you with him?’

 

‘What’s there to explain?’

 

‘Noctis is promised to Lunafreya.’

 

‘That was before we were married.’

 

‘I’m gonna be straight with you here, your Highness. I’m honestly surprised I have to be, because by this point I’d figured this was as much an escape route for you as it was for us. But your marriage is a farce. Not supposed to last. If you dad takes so much as another step to the left toward Insomnia, I wouldn’t be surprised if the whole thing went up in smoke. So, actually, Lunafreya is still Noctis’ bride to be.’

 

The world is burning, drowning, ending, but it’s okay, okay, okay, because Prompto is going to wake up any second. He’s going to wake up to find Noctis next to him, and he’s going pounce on his husband, his man, and make him feel so _much_ he won’t ever, ever, ever consider wanting anyone else.

 

But for now, stuck as he is in this nightmare, Prompto says, ‘Noctis doesn’t seem to think so.’

 

Gladio looks down, hands clutching at each other, teeth biting at his lip. ‘It’s not Noctis’ decision to make.’ A pause, a stillness, in which the air is punched from Prompto’s lungs. ‘The council is sworn to the gods, as you know. As is the oracle. The union of Noctis and Luna has been part of a compact before Noctis was even aware of it. The consensus when the council agreed to your marriage was that… was that there was no risk of consummation, and as such the sanctity of the royal union would not be at risk. Their wedding would be delayed by a great deal of time, of that everyone was sure, but… at the end of the day, Prom, no one expected Noctis to want to fuck you. And so your marriage, as nothing but a stalling tactic, could be annulled at the earliest opportunity, Noctis would be free to marry Luna – as was always the plan – and with that marriage would come the support of everyone from tribal aboriginals to the fucking gods. There’s more at stake here than you know.’

 

‘What… did anyone… did anyone ever think to ask Noct about any of this?’

 

Gladio at least does Prompto the courtesy of meeting his eye. ‘We thought it was what he wanted. We didn’t think we would need to.’

 

Now Prompto lets himself be angry.

 

‘Bullshit,’ he says, throwing himself from the bed, ‘BULLSHIT.’ It’s getting harder, he thinks, to live as confined as he does, realising as he stalks from the room that he doesn’t really have anywhere to go. He heads towards the kitchen, intent at the very least on a drink.

 

He’s angry at Gladio. He’s angry at Ignis – or, well, the idea of Ignis giving Noctis a dressing down as they speak about his recklessness in getting the poor blonde boy’s hopes up. And he’s definitely angry at Noctis: this is what it had all been about, Noctis’ self-consciousness, his determination to keep things hidden and private. He’s been keeping his options open.

 

There’s a bottle of vodka that almost tips out as he yanks one of the kitchen cupboards open. He considers getting a glass but then decides against it. Gladio hovers in the doorway, considers stopping the scene for moment, but then decides that maybe Prompto needs a drink. Or ten.

 

‘What were you hoping to achieve with this little chat of yours, exactly?’

 

‘We need you two to tone it down, at the very least.’

 

‘Tone what down? I barely even get to touch him when other people are around anymore. If anything, we touch less than we did before we were… not fucking around.’

 

‘Well, I don’t know. It’s just… getting obvious, the way you are around each other. You may not touch much but… it’s the way you know what you’re doing.’

 

‘That’s such bullshit, Gladio. No-one is paying that much attention.’

 

‘Maybe not. But me and Iggy have noticed. And the only level after us who might notice is the council. If they get wind of the whole thing you two are fucked. No more living together, no more private time. Some very powerful people have got a lot riding on the failure of your marriage.’

 

‘This is meant to be the great and righteous Lucis, huh?’

 

‘Fuck that, this place is just as fucked in the system as most. We sold our prince off to tyrants, for astrals sake. No, we’re about as righteous as you are cruel. But I care about him, and I care about you. You need to tone it down, before you lose everything.’

 

‘You’re… you’re not telling us to stop?’

 

Gladio pads further into the room and leans his hip against the kitchen island, arms crossed over his broad chest, mouth slightly raised at the corner in the hint of a smile. ‘Jeeze, Prom, we’re your friends, too. We want you to be happy, that’s the point here. But you’ve got to be realistic.’

 

‘Fuck realistic. Nothing realistic has ever ended well for me.’

 

‘The worst part of that statement is that I don’t think it’s gonna change.’

 

‘Wow, Gladio, you sure are comforting.’

 

There’s the click of the suite door opening and the sudden distant bursting of Noctis’ incomprehensible yelling. The door slams shut behind him, loud enough to echo, but opens immediately with Ignis attempting to calm the prince with logic.

 

Prompto doesn’t bother to restrain his glare as he passes a glance over Gladio. Yeah, he’d been pissed at Noctis before, but from the sounds of the prince’s rage his inclinations were much more in line with Prompto’s indignation than his advisor’s recommendations of sense.

 

Prompto stalks out of the kitchen to go and find his backup.

 

*-*

 

Ignis is being too nice, his scolding too light, his points too futile and obvious to be anything but a guise through which he could get Noctis alone.

 

‘Get to the point, Iggy.’

 

His advisor stops short, studies the prince for a moment, then nods, conceding as he pushes his glasses further up his nose. ‘Very well,’ he begins, abandoning his useless lecture on council room etiquette, ‘what do you hope to achieve in your relationship with Prompto?’

 

Of all the things, Noctis had not been expecting that. He leans back in his chair, a solid, straight-backed thing, creaky in the years it has spent as part of the small library come office. ‘My _relationship_?’

 

‘Indeed. The dynamic you have settled into over the past year or so has been greatly beneficial to the crown. However, to push things further would be… risky.’

 

‘You’re joking.’

 

Ignis sounds almost sympathetic when he says, ‘I’m afraid not.’

 

‘And what exactly do you think this new… stage in our relationship is?’

 

‘I am not a fool, Noct. And I am worried. You know as well as I do the repercussions of these actions.’

 

‘Oh no,’ Noctis says, monotone, eyes flat with sarcasm, ‘I’ll have to stay married to one person forever. The horror.’

 

‘This is not a joking matter, your Highness. Actions such as these are rash and may lead down roads that you cannot turn back from once followed.’

 

‘You say this about Prompto, yet you would’ve been quite happy to sail me down this river with Luna.’

 

‘That is entirely different. You have grown up with the expectation of that union. You would know what is coming.’

 

‘Except clearly I didn’t. No one can know what’s coming! Even Luna is convinced the prophesies shifted with Prompto’s arrival on the scene. Why not let things play out as they – ’

 

‘This is not letting things play out, Noct. This is you – ’

 

‘This is me doing something for _myself_ for once.’

 

Noctis shoves away from the desk, planning to stride out of the room. The attempt is somewhat foiled as he stumbles over a stray coffee table, upon which a stack of precariously balanced books go tumbling. Ignis stands too, staring at the prince as he rubs at his freshly bruised shin.

 

‘You are not as selfless a creature as you seem to think yourself to be.’

 

Noctis is struck dumb by the cruelty of the statement. When he looks over to his friend, even Ignis seems to have shocked himself. He closes his eyes, breathing heavily, chest moving under linen shirt.

 

‘Forgive me. That was un-called for.’ Ignis reaches out a hand but Noctis pulls away from it. The genuine guilt on his friend’s face does little to heal the hurt. Ignis seems to read this and carries on speaking. ‘I beg you, Noct. Think of Prompto. The boy is so totally in the dark, and putting him at such a disadvantage as this, where he unwittingly lives under the knife of his own ignorance – it is dangerous for the wellbeing of you both, and threatens the very crown of Lucis. We need a stable monarch, with a stable marriage of effective, _long-term_ alliance. Prompto is the short term. He always has been.’

 

‘No.’

 

‘Excuse me?’

 

‘I am thinking of Prompto. It’s thinking of him that I am telling you this: no. Prompto is not the short term.’

 

‘That is not your decision to make.’

 

‘Not right now, maybe. But I can make it work. I’m going to find a way to keep everyone happy: the council safe, Prompto safe, Lucis _safe_. And then me and him are going to stick together.’

 

‘The days of your partnership are still fresh, Noctis. Do you not think these lengths a touch extreme?’

 

‘We’ve been married for over two years, Ignis.’

 

‘And you have been sleeping together for less than two weeks, from what we can tell.’

 

‘We’re not sleeping together. Not in the way you’re thinking.’

 

‘Come now, Noct – ’

 

‘We’re not. But we will, when the time is right. That’s the point, Iggy. This is right. I’ve never experienced anything that has felt more right in my life. And that’s why I’m going to find a way to keep it.’

 

‘And what do you plan on doing in the mean time? How will you keep Prompto safe from the repercussions of this fantasy of yours?’

 

‘He doesn’t need to know. He doesn’t need to know any of it. We’re happy as we are, right now, and we can stay that way until I make all the problems go away. He doesn’t need to worry.’

 

There’s a silence, filled only with the pained expression on Ignis’ halfway to apologetic face. ‘That may not be quite possible any longer.’

 

Slowly, Noctis turns to face his advisor fully, dread coiling in his gut. ‘Why?’

 

‘Gladio and I are trying to protect you, both of you, when we tell you to keep whatever it is you are to each other hidden. Of course, I admit it was a fault of my own, to think Prompto would have been privy to all your ideas. To think you weren’t already trying to “protect” him in your own way.’

 

‘Speak clearly, Ignis.’

 

‘Gladiolus is with Prompto as we speak, giving him a somewhat similar speech, I would expect. Although if it has gone anything like my own, it hasn’t gone nearly to plan.’

 

Noctis isn’t listening. He’s already rushing from the office, running back home, back to Prompto, desperate to save what he can of what’s left.

 

*-*

 

Prompto flies into Noctis’ arms half way toward the kitchen. After a brief moment where Noctis sucks air back into his lungs, he wraps his arms around the blonde as tightly as he can.

 

‘I’m really fucking angry at you, too, y’know,’ Prompto mutters into his chest.

 

‘Fair enough. How about you be mad at me later, and for now we try to sort things with Iggy and Gladio?’

 

By the time this brief exchange is completed, the advisor and shield in question have caught up with them in the hallway. Though the two princes fail to see, the two friends share a tentative glance, concluding with a shrug from Gladio and a resigned sigh from Ignis. Neither are particularly surprised by their conclusion.

 

‘Just how much have you thought this through, Noctis,’ asks Ignis.

 

Prompto feels Noctis stiffen in his arms and tightens his hold again.

 

‘I’m trying my best,’ is the prince’s delayed reply.

 

‘Well… it’s a good thing Gladio and I have conjured up some ideas then, isn’t it.’

 

Noctis pulls away from Prompto, distracted by his confusion, keeping only one arm wrapped protectively around Prompto’s waist. The other prince watches, eyes alert, but keeps silent. ‘What are you talking about, Ignis?’

 

It is Gladio who answers first, ambling forward to lean on the wall beside his elder friend. ‘We had to get a read on you two before we started encouraging these wild schemes of yours, obviously. Couldn’t stick our necks out for you only to have one of you bail at the first sign of trouble.’ Gladio catches the frown marring Prompto’s lips and shrugs, just managing to pull a half smile onto his face. ‘Like I said, we’re you’re friends.’

 

‘All the same,’ Ignis begins, although halts, as though even he does not wish to say what he must, ‘our points stand. You must be careful. At least until we can figure something out.’

 

‘You’re… going to help us?’

 

‘Only if you help us help you. For starters, Noct, you’ve gotta be more honest with the kid. I can’t believe Prom didn’t know any of this shit.’

 

Prompto frowns in Gladio’s direction. ‘I’m right here, you know. And I’m not a kid.’

 

‘Sure.’ But he’s more interested in staring Noctis down, forcing the Lucien prince to consider his answer.

 

‘Honesty,’ Noctis nods, ‘I can do that. What else?’

 

*-*

‘Can we skip to the part where you’ve forgiven me for, once again, being super shitty?’

 

‘How many times?’

 

‘I’m sorry?’

 

Prompto sits cross-legged on the floor in front of the large bedroom window. Outside the night is dark in the distance, but the close lights of the city illuminate them. Noctis goes around flipping the lamps on around the room so he doesn’t have to meet Prompto’s gaze.

 

‘How many times am I supposed to do that?’ After a deep breath, Prompto continues, and it takes only a few words for Noctis to realise this is a well-practiced speech. ‘How many times am I supposed to write off this imbalance, to pretend like everything can be made okay so long as you just go back to being _nice_. Months of jumping through hoops for me, and for you it’s supposed to cost nothing more than a shrug and a sheepish smile.’

 

‘It’s not like that – ’

 

‘ _You’ve been covering your own backside_.’

 

‘What?’

 

‘All that bullshit about wanting to “wait” and how you wanted everything to be “special”. Being ignorant does not make me an idiot. It’s obvious now you were just keeping your escape route clear ready for your _annulment_.’

 

Noctis freezes, gaze locked on the floor. After a pause, he hears Prompto scoff at Noctis’ silence. Finally, Noctis chokes out, ‘you can’t seriously believe that.’

 

‘I don’t know what to believe.’

 

‘I thought you trusted me.’

 

‘Of course I don’t trust you. What reason have you given me to have any faith in you?’

 

‘But everything that’s happened –’

 

‘It is not the same thing. I can love you without trusting you.’

 

Prompto could have sucker punched him and it would have hurt less. Noctis stumbles, legs giving way as he falls onto the bed.

 

‘I don’t see why you’re surprised,’ Prompto carries on, ‘you don’t trust me either.’

 

‘Of course I do.’

 

‘I’m still not allowed to be armed, you know. They’re training me, but I’m not allowed to touch anything that’s not a practice weapon.’

 

Noctis finally glances over at the hunched back of the blonde. Prompto has his arms wrapped around his knees, chin rested on top of them. ‘Why would you want to be armed?’

 

Prompto shrugs.

 

‘Do you mean it?’

 

After a beat, his voice, a whisper now. ‘Do I mean what?’

 

‘Do you love me?’

 

Another pause. ‘Slip of the tongue.’

 

The pain and panic is shifting into something more solid inside Noctis’ chest. He knows that tone. The tone Prompto uses when he’s lying, acting, pretending. He stands, takes the first few steps towards Prompto, and then:

 

‘I would like you to sleep elsewhere tonight, Prince Noctis.’

 

*-*

 

Prompto hears Noctis’ footsteps come to a stop. His back is tingling, nerves craving, hoping that Noctis ignores him and keeps coming. He watches the reflection in the window as Noctis’ limbs fall slack, expression considerate as he attempts to read the other prince.

 

Prompto wishes him luck with that, because even he doesn’t know what he wants.

 

He’s angry and hurt and self-conscious. It was all very well Gladio and Ignis testing their resolve, but they significantly over-estimated Prompto’s self-confidence. How was he supposed to feel anything but betrayed, given the way Noctis has constantly held him back behind the final barrier?

 

So he’s pushing people away, lashing out, as usual, the only real way he knows how, because he’s always been alone so it just feels safer.

 

But maybe he’s figured it out, knows what he wants even if he doesn’t know how to get there: he wants Noctis to prove him wrong.

 

So it’s sort of crushing when the Noctis in the window turns away and walks towards the door, every step so slow that it falls silently and they may as well exist in a noiseless world. Once there, his hand rests on the doorknob for a moment, and Prompto closes his eyes, stops watching, because he doesn’t think he can stand it to watch Noctis leave. A single burning tear escapes and falls onto his cheek.

 

And then, a long, long moment later, a warm hand wipes it away, followed by soft lips on each cheek, drifting over his eyelids, around the curve of his jaw, and Prompto can breathe again. Noctis is hesitant when he tries to kiss Prompto properly for the first time, scared as though he’d finally break the spell. Though it takes Prompto a conflicted moment, he reacts, just about turning into the kiss.

 

Noctis flicks his tongue along Prompto’s bottom lip, but before the other can react, Noctis’ mouth moves to slide back along Prompto’s jaw, down the sensitive skin of his neck until he reaches the ear. Prompto unlaces his arms from around his legs and slides them up along Noctis arms, hooking them around his neck to hold the prince in place.

 

And then the world stops, because Noctis says, ‘Can I make love to you?’

 

‘No.’

 

Rather than getting upset, Noctis carries on working Prompto’s jaw, murmuring against the skin, ‘why?’

 

‘Because I don’t want it to be because of an argument. I don’t want you to be trying to prove something.’

 

Noctis leans back and traces the skin under each of Prompto’s eyes with his thumbs. ‘That’s not why I’m asking now.’

 

‘Then why?’ Prompto’s voice breaks, raw and desperate, and though the suspicions had been there, Noctis is beginning to realise just how strained Prompto’s emotions are right now.

 

‘Open your eyes.’

 

After a beat, Prompto does, and it almost kills him. His vision is nothing but Noctis, and the blue, blue, blue of his eyes, the colour that keeps spiraling down.

 

‘Because even if you’re not in love with me, I’m in love with you. I think I knew I was the day you kissed me. I may not have realised it until you were asking me to leave and I found that the hardest thing I had ever tried – and failed – to do, but it was there, as constant as the sun. And I would give you anything, Prompto. Anything. Everything. And I want to show you.’

 

Prompto doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t think he’d be able to make a sound even if he knew. Instead, he lets Noctis lead. Noctis rises, pulling Prompto up with him, and the blonde goes limply, dazed. When Noctis leans in for another kiss, Prompto rises up to meet him, and it’s not long before the kisses are more heated, deeper and more desperate, like it’s the first night all over again.

 

The back of Prompto’s knees hit something and he realizes Noctis has lead him over to the bed. He falls back, left staring up, watching as Noctis spreads Prompto’s legs and crawls in-between them, mouth searching out skin as his hands move to slide the t-shirt up and out of the way.

 

Noctis searches out Prompto’s ear once more and whispers, ‘if you ever want me to stop, just say.’

 

Prompto pulls him down into another deep kiss and as Noctis goes on to undress him with his hands and mouth, he breathes out a mantra of _never stop, never ever stop._


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so uhhhh lets not think too much about how the starscourge canonically works bc nah that lore is apparently going out the window in my fantasies whoops sozz
> 
> also song credit: 'If I Ruled The World' by Jamie Cullum
> 
> once again, thank you so much for all the support/kudos/comments. If i wasn't drowning in dissertation/end of degree work rn i would reply to all of them but time is a fleeting thing and it grieves me

‘The Royal Tour.’

 

Silence. Ignis sits on the sofa opposite Noctis and Prompto, the two princes curled up together, while Gladio is flopped over one of the armchairs. Between the chairs is a coffee table stacked with folders, papers, and mostly empty mugs. Despite the less than warm reaction, Ignis doesn’t look any less proud of himself.

 

‘Uh, isn’t the Royal Tour, like…’ Noctis hesitates, frowning, ‘outside of Insomnia.’

 

‘Well, yes, and initially that was a problem. But it is for that reason that it is the perfect stalling tactic. Weeks away from the palace and the eyes of the Council. Time for you two to figure out whatever… _this_ is.’

 

Noctis smothers a flaring defensiveness. He knows Ignis is simply being cautious and means well.

 

‘It took some convincing, but – ’

 

‘Wait, you’ve already got it _agreed_?’

 

‘Of course. I wouldn’t want to get your hopes up for an uncertain thing.’

 

At this, Prompto jerks up, beginning to pay attention. ‘You mean we’ll be… leaving… Insomnia?’

 

‘Thirty-six locations visited over the course of nine weeks, all with the intention of spreading aid and bolstering morale. Plenty of time, should the two of you wish to go slow and perhaps catch a few days of privacy here and there. Gladio and I will of course be accompanying you, along with an escort, but we’re happy to help out with any distractions should you need them to get away.’

 

‘You’re really doing this for me, Iggy?’

 

A pensive expression takes over Ignis’ features for a moment, a crease growing between his eyebrows. ‘I realise I have not been all that supportive lately. I truly only wish to help.’

 

Noctis wants to throw himself across the sofa and hug the guy, but he’s never really been the type, so he settles for standing, walking over, and clutching Ignis’ shoulder in a tight grip. ‘Thank you.’

 

*-*

 

Prompto finds packing for the tour more difficult than he expected. Throughout his time in the palace his wardrobe has grown vast, even if he does have his select favourite outfits. He decides to pack all of them, plus enough various others so he is prepared for any occasion that they may be called upon.

 

The camera, of course, is a vital thing, and Prompto packs his whole kit to go with it. He might find some chances to get some killer shots.

 

But the real pause is when Prompto feels the shift in the fabric of his sleeve. Though he often keeps the diamond clip stored safely in its draw, Prompto is finding himself more and more keeping it with him, tucked into a pocket or clipped inside his sleeve – the latter out of a growing paranoia of people looking for it.

 

The logical thing would be to leave such a valuable item behind. It would be safest in the palace, where security would ensure no one entered the suite while the two princes were away.

 

However, logic was beginning to become one of Prompto’s largest failings.

 

Before he can reconsider too strongly, Prompto slips the silk square of fabric out of its draw, wraps it around the diamond clip, and packs it away into the corner of one of his suitcases – right in the middle of a nest of socks.

 

Just in case.

 

*-*

 

Some of Prompto’s favourite pictures from the first few weeks of the Royal Tour:

  * Chocobos
  * _Pink_ Chocobos
  * Himself, riding a chocobo
  * Ignis trying to escape a super greasy, super big cheeseburger
  * Noctis eating said cheeseburger
  * The sunrise over the mountains
  * The sunset over the water
  * Noctis in the sunlight through the trees
  * Noctis naked under the moonlight
  * Noctis
  * Noctis
  * Noctis



 

*-*

 

Eventually, they reach Lestallum, and Prompto is sort of shocked to find it’s its own beacon of light. A city, though one a great deal smaller than Insomnia, but still with the same life and vibe and buzz.

 

They do their part, visiting the local patrons, volunteering at shelters, but they have some rest time too, busy as they have been in the satellite settlements around the city the past few days. Prompto proposes a small escape.

 

It is late and the city has filtered out, most seeking the cool shelter of darkness and sleep. The hum of streetlights fills the air, crickets from the close by hills encroaching on the very edges the urban bubble. A lingering heat seeps from the stone pathways, a tang of summer smell hovering in the air.

 

Prompto and Noctis meander through the narrow streets hand in hand, idly talking occasionally but mostly just content. They emerge into a wide space that in the daytime is a busy market but, this late at night, has filtered out into a ghostly emptiness. Taking up the centre of the square is a humongous chalk drawing that an artist had completed throughout the day.

 

Rather than smothering the image, the darkness only compliments the illusion of a cavern stretching across the square. The edges of the pebbles have been manipulated with talented artistic skill to look as though they crumble away into a dark, deep empty space. The two princes pause at the edge, toes just aligned with the crumbled stone.

 

Prompto steps out onto the chalk. Noctis is half surprised he doesn’t drop down into the black, as though someone truly had opened up a canyon in the centre of Lestallum. Noctis certainly feels like he’s falling.

 

Spinning in slow circles, head thrown back to the sky, Prompto wanders the giant painting, seemingly lost in himself. Noctis enjoys watching, appreciating the way Prompto let’s himself expand wider, taking up more space in the world, taking up space he deserves. The moment feels like glass, like sand, like the oil paintings hung on the walls of the palace. The yellow of the lights like waves in the air, Prompto blurred around the edges, a mysterious figure of a painter’s invention; too good to be real.

 

Noctis is so lost in it that he doesn’t notice when Prompto stops, turns, looks back. They’re just two boys, stuck in chalk, frozen with an entire ravine between them.

 

Prompto lifts a hand, unfolded, beckoning. ‘You wanted to learn to dance.’

 

Noctis, raising an eyebrow, glances around the square, noting the lights in the buildings and the slats of closed up shops, the occasional car distantly revving as it drives past. ‘Definitely not here.’

 

‘Here’s as good as anywhere.’ Prompto’s voice echoes.

 

‘Where people can see?’

 

‘No one’s watching.’

 

‘People are always watching.’

 

‘Not always.’ And then, ‘Step into the abyss with me, Noct.’

 

It still feels like falling, when he steps into the black. Or maybe that’s Prompto coming closer, the yank of threads suddenly being tightened as every limb of his own is pulled taut in its effort to get closer.

 

Prompto guides Noctis’ hands: he unfolds the fingers of one, rests it on his hip. The other he presses his palm to, flat, fingers shaking ever so slightly, staring as though its something he’s never seen before. Noctis releases a breath, feels his body deflate, become lighter, almost, than air. He entwines his fingers with Prompto’s. This seems to wake Prompto up, because he flashes a nervous smile, corrects his posture, and begins to lead Noctis through gentle nudges and movements.

 

At first, their dancing is stilted and awkward, Noctis trying a little too hard and Prompto thinking more on instructing than enjoying the moment. It doesn’t take too long, though, before they find a vague sort of rhythm, movements a little more complicated than in the past, the occasional twirl even, and Prompto forgets he’s supposed to be the teacher and lets Noctis take over.

 

Far from falling into a stumbling mess, Noctis feels his body pick up the movements and run, awash with the city lights and the echoing sound of their steps over the canyon.

 

‘If only we had some music,’ Noctis murmurs, absently.

 

There’s silence as the dancing continues, almost long enough that Noctis thinks his remark has gone unacknowledged, but then Prompto begins to sing.

 

‘ _If I ruled the world…_ ’

 

His voice is this ghostly, absent thing, ringing through the concrete.

 

‘ _Everyday would be the first day of spring_.’

 

Noctis just manages to save himself from stumbling, struck dumb as he is by this new found talent, because Prompto’s voice could bring down the stars.

 

‘ _Every heart would have a new song to sing_

_and we’d sing of the joy every morning would bring._ ’

 

At first Prompto watches the ground, the windows, the sky, anything but Noctis. Bodies pressed as close as they are, Noctis feels the other boy take in a breath, preparing himself, before he looks up to meet Noctis’ eyes.

 

‘ _If I ruled the world_

_Every man would be as free as a bird…_ ’

 

They never leave, twilight eyes hooked on one another, and like that, Prompto singing, the world nothing but an abyss around them, they dance.

 

‘ _There’d be sunshine in everyone’s sky_

_If the day ever dawned when I ruled the world_.’

 

As Prompto lets the final notes of the song dissolve into night, they drift to a stop, hands frozen in the moment of mid dance. Noctis is struck again by how they must look from where he stood before, two characters hooked inside a painting of the city. They’re small, barely a smudge against the greatness of all that is around them, the city, the lights, the stars, the night, the clouds, the heavens, the over-arching, undefeatable _wideness_ of it all.

 

‘ _Dancing Beneath the World_ ,’ Noctis calls it, and wishes he could capture it, paint it himself, because he never wants to lose it, this moment where Prompto is staring at him yet again, like he’s something no one has ever seen before.

 

*-*

 

The next day in the car, Noctis, driving his Audi slightly ahead of their accompanying caravan of cars, asks, ‘how good is your memory?’

 

‘Terrible,’ Prompto replies, preoccupied with the feeling of sunlight warm on his eyelids through his sunglasses.

 

‘So… I’m guessing it’s even worse when you’re drunk, right?’

 

Concerned now, Prompto opens his eyes, removes his glasses and turns towards Noctis, attempting to read the other prince’s neutral expression. He deduces nothing. ‘What did I do?’

 

Noctis smirks. ‘I’ve got a surprise for you.’

 

*-*

 

The rest of the caravan carries on towards their next stop – except for a small accompaniment of guards who will remain in the area, likely including Ignis and Gladio – but Noctis turns down a thin country lane that leads into the trees. Prompto is silent and watchful at his side. Eventually, Noctis pulls the car over and gestures for Prompto to get out with him.

 

Noctis, taking Prompto’s hand, leads the two of them through a winding twist of decaying path and trees, ducking at one point beneath a collapsed boulder caught between the walls of a thin cavern. Though Prompto is quiet and considerate at first, as the minutes pass his curiosity gets the better of him.

 

‘Where are we going?’ Start with the simple questions.

 

‘Like I said – it’s a surprise.’

 

‘What are we doing?’

 

‘A surprise.’

 

‘How’d you find this place?’

 

‘Friend of a friend gave me a hint. I may have been asking around.’

 

‘What for? What are you up to?’

 

Noctis yanks Prompto to a stop. The other boy stumbles as he’s pulled towards Noctis’ chest. Noctis catches him, one arm wrapping around his waist while the other comes to cup his cheek. ‘Will you just… let me have this one, okay?’

 

After a pause, Prompto smiles. ‘Okay.’

 

Noctis pecks Prompto on the lips and then pulls them back into a steady hike.

 

‘Seriously, though, I hope it’s not much further because I did not sign up to all this hiking shit.’

 

‘Jeeze, we’re almost there… at least, I think we are. I’ve never actually been.’

 

‘So you’re telling me we could be lost?’

 

‘Prompto!’

 

‘Sorry! Surprise – letting you have this one – got it.’

 

A padding of vines and leaves covers the end of the cavern. Noctis pulls the curtain to the side. Before the two of them have completely stepped through Prompto gasps. They’ve made it.

 

The cavern opens out into a wide space, walled on all sides by sheer cliffs that contain the utopia in a natural bowl. A small stream at the top falls in a trickling waterfall, gathering in a sparkling fresh water pond, the blue of the water shining in the sun. All around the water is a meadow of rich green grass overflowing with a bed of flowers. The different blossoms spread across an array of colours, from blues and indigos to pinks and deep, dark reds. Noctis finds himself reminded of Prompto’s colourful rug.

 

Prompto takes a few nervous steps forward then stops. Noctis hangs back, watching, hands tucked into pockets.

 

‘I don’t know if you remember,’ Noctis begins, ‘but a long, long… _long_ time ago, you told me that, instead of bothering with any of your prince stuff, you just wanted a nice guy to – ’

 

‘Take me somewhere where there’s flowers. How did you – How could you possibly remember that?’

 

Prompto is looking back at him now, all wide, glassy eyes. Noctis shrugs, caught between meeting Prompto’s gaze and caving to his urge to look away. ‘I don’t know. I didn’t mean to, I guess. You just – when you said it, you looked so… sad. I wanted to make you happy. I always want to make you happy.’

 

Prompto comes back over and kisses Noctis, deep and slow. Then: ‘Thank you.’

 

After he has let Noctis go, Prompto leans down to remove his boots and socks. ‘You should take yours off too,’ Prompto says to Noctis’ questioning gaze, ‘there is very little in life better than the feeling of grass between your toes.’

 

A pause, in which Noctis isn’t quiet sure he agrees, but Prompto wins out quickly and has Noctis removing his shoes after all. Goddammit, the blonde is right, Noctis thinks, following the path Prompto has meandered towards the water’s edge, toes tingling as they sink into the soft earth. Prompto stands looking out beyond the gently shifting shoreline. As Noctis walks up behind Prompto, he wraps his arms around the other’s waist. Prompto leans back into his chest, humming lightly.

 

‘You know,’ Noctis rumbles in Prompto’s ear, ‘because of the high walls, no one can see us down here.’

 

‘Is that so?’

 

‘Mm-hm.’

 

‘And what exactly does that mean?’

 

As an answer, Noctis slides around to Prompto’s front and drops to his knees.

 

*-*

 

Afterward, the two of them lie tangled together in the grass. Prompto decides that having outdoor sex is perhaps one of the greatest and most freeing experiences he has ever had. Despite this, once his euphoria has worn off, he can’t quite bring himself to lie about so exposed to the world. Shifting himself out of the lethargic nest of Noctis, he wanders back over to their clothes and slides his boxers and jeans back on.

 

Noctis hums in complaint as he moves away but is otherwise content to remain on the grassy bed in the warm sun. Sparing the occasional glance for his husband, Prompto meanders around the clearing, hand brushing against low hanging leaves and toes sinking into the sandy edge of the pond. Despite the occasional breeze, the air is still, the rich scents of flowers and greenery permeating every breath Prompto takes.

 

And then they don’t.

 

Between one step and the next, the pleasant aromas are replaced with a tangy, foul smell of rot and death. It brings Prompto up short.

 

He’s in the furthest corner of the clearing. Noctis is opposite, on the distant side of the pond, oblivious to Prompto’s sudden mystery. At first glance, there seems to be no visible change. The grass in the corner, while lacking in flowers, seems healthy enough, and though the bark and rock of the cliff edge may be covered in more moss than usual, it hardly seems an issue when the waterfall is not far off.

 

Prompto is all too familiar with such deceptions. He crouches, inching further towards the smell, hand reaching out to brush against the mossy vines climbing the root of the rock. As he moves closer, the smell becomes all encompassing. Hard to believe that life exists just meters backward.

 

Prompto’s hand is brushing at the moss, and then it stops. He stops. Everything stops.

 

Underneath, the rock itself is black and decaying, a mushy mass of sinking stone reaching back into the earth. The mould climbs up beneath the vines still spread along the wall, hinting at an infestation way beyond what Prompto ever could have expected to find. His hand jerks away, and as it does so, he brings much of the closely hanging growth with him, all of it fickle and blackened on the inside, even if the outside still seems green.

 

Prompto stumbles back, trying to shove himself up off the ground at the same time as wiping his hand desperately along the floor. As he crawls backwards, he flips himself over, flailing forward until he reaches the pond water. He crashes his hands into calm surface, frantically cleaning off his hands.

 

The noise draws Noctis’ attention. He leans up onto his elbows and frowns over at the blonde. ‘Everything okay?’

 

‘Get dressed,’ says Prompto, standing and brushing his hands against his trousers as he stalks towards Noctis, ‘we need to leave.’

 

‘Wha – what’s going on?’ Noctis is trying to catch up but is thrown by Prompto’s mania as he runs over and attempts to drag Noctis up off the floor. There is very little sanity in the wideness of his eyes, the wildness of his actions. ‘Prompto, calm down. What’s going on?’

 

Prompto abandons Noctis in favour of putting the rest of his clothes on, throwing Noctis’ to the other prince as he does so. Noctis concedes and starts to pull them on.

 

Before Noctis has finished dressing, Prompto is racing out of the clearing, throwing himself under the rocky barrier to the clearing. Noctis pulls his t-shirt the last of its way on as he tries to follow, calling out Prompto’s name as he does. The blonde doesn’t look back until they have emerged from the forest, near the road. Gladio and Ignis had been hovering around the cars after all, though the rest of their security detail still watch the perimeters, giving the group relative privacy as the two glaives come to meet them in sudden concern.

 

Finally, Noctis catches up to Prompto and yanks him around by the wrist. ‘Stop running and tell me what the fuck is going on.’

 

It is only then, finally close enough to hear, that Noctis realises Prompto is muttering to himself, a steady rhythm of, ‘he’s done it, he’s actually done it.’ Noctis tries shaking the blonde but still he remains trapped in a zoned out panic, mumbling, voice breaking and on the edge of sobbing.

 

Finally, Noctis gives Prompto a light but sudden slap, just enough to snap the boy out of it. ‘Talk to me, Prom, who’s done what?’

 

‘Verstael.’

 

‘Who?’

 

‘He’s infected it.’

 

‘Infected what?’

 

‘Everything.’


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song for the Chapter (although mainly the end): 'Duck Shoot' from The Crown score by Rupert Gregson-Williams 
> 
> I am so so sorry for the long wait for this chapter. Fun fact: we're now about to start the actual plot and events that lead to my writing this fic. Everything before now has been me essentially trying to set the scene whoops 
> 
> Thank you for all comments, kudos and continued support. I don't deserve y'all <3

Ignis hands Prompto a cold glass of water. There is a moment where it seems as though the glass is going to slip straight through Prompto’s fingers and all three other men jerk forward to catch it, but at the last second Prompto’s grip tightens and the glass doesn’t fall. His hands shake as he takes a sip.

 

They sit together on the sofas in their hotel suite. Prompto is calmer now than he was in the car, but still struggles to articulate the phenomena of his own panic.

 

‘Start from the beginning,’ Ignis tries, ‘you can talk to us.’

 

Prompto scoffs and takes another sip of water. Then he scratches the skin on his wrist, eyes flickering around different spots on the floor. Then his free arm slides in to clutch his own waist. ‘You make it sound so easy.’

 

‘How can we make it easier,’ Gladio asks.

 

Nothing.

 

Noctis inches closer and wraps an arm around Prompto’s shoulders. The blonde curls into the embrace. Noctis takes the glass of water and hands it back to Ignis so the two of them can clutch each other. With one hand he cards his fingers through Prompto’s hair while the other brushes rhythmically along his arm.

 

‘Talk to us, Prom. We just want to help.’

 

A gulp, and then: ‘Verstael Besithia was – is my father’s research chief, responsible for every beastly invention the Empire has at its disposal. A few… a few years back… he started working on something. I – he – have you ever heard of the Starscourge?’

 

‘A myth,’ Ignis interjects, ‘a legend of another time, surely.’

 

‘Well. Every legend has its grain of truth. Verstael found that grain – a disease, maybe not so widespread as the legends would have you believe – yet – but still there. He’s been desperately trying to weaponise the disease for years, hoped to manipulate its effects to achieve certain… mutations.’

 

‘Mutations?’ Gladio sounds doubtful, but he is leaning forward. ‘What sort of mutations?’

 

Prompto untangles himself from Noctis and turns to face the whole group. Noctis keeps one arm resting along Prompto’s back, more concerned with the pain on his face and how he can make it better than anything the blonde might be saying.

 

Prompto shrugs. ‘Strength, dexterity… soldier’s DNA is manipulated and mixed around with this shit to see just about every kind of result. Some of… some of the experiments didn’t end well. When I first… saw the research, he thought he was making progress, but then… there were mistakes, risks even Idedolas wasn’t willing to take. I thought – I’d _hoped_ he’d given up.’ His voice drops to a whisper. ‘No one deserves to experience Verstael’s craziness.’

 

‘What has changed your mind?’ Ignis’ stare verges on aggressive and Prompto struggles to meet it. ‘What did you see, Prompto? What did you find this afternoon that has made you think differently?’

 

‘He’s trying to _spread_ it, Iggy. Which is… so much worse. The disease effects not just people’s genetic disposition but everything. The air, the trees – anything with any sort of organism can mutate if the concentration of the scourge is strong enough. Rather than manipulating specific strands of DNA within a lab, he’s just… let it go. Let it escape. It would never have made it this far if he wasn’t doing it on purpose.’

 

‘But what’s making you _so sure_ it’s escaped?’

 

‘The forest.’ Prompto nods out of the window. Below them, in the closing twilight, trees and hills stretch out until the glinting edges of the lake are hinted. The colours are lush and green, a perfect contrast to the gentle pinks and blues of the sky. Prompto takes a deep breath, and then: ‘it’s dying.’

 

Gladio and Ignis stare blankly. Noctis is staring like he wants to understand, desperately, but doesn’t have enough comprehension to even pretend.

 

‘The disease is taking over the forest. I saw it in the rock today. The cliff edge itself was decaying, falling apart. It’s lucky people so rarely visit that area. If they are exposed to it, who knows what could happen.’

 

‘Very well,’ says Ignis, already slipping his phone out of his pocket, ‘we can get someone to look over this immediately. It was only a small section, you say? We can contain this.’

 

‘No, you don’t understand. It was _in_ the rock. The way the disease works… it spreads from deep within, so if it’s… if it’s reached the surface, then it’s way too late. The infestation is _underground_. At this rate, all it’d take is someone wandering on their own in the dark or stumbling onto a spot like the one I found today and then, bam, infected with the plague. You’ll have a deamon infestation before you know it. It’s the perfect attack – fuck, shit, I should have considered this. This is my fault for not warning you – _fuck_.’

 

Prompto buries his face in his hands while the other three share questioning glances. Noctis’ hand slips from Prompto’s back. Ignis stands and begins to pace, one hand rubbing at his chin. Gladio’s eyes stay trained on Prompto, head tilted just to the side.

 

Noctis breaks the silence. ‘So why didn’t you?’

 

‘Hm?’ Prompto looks up.

 

‘If you knew all this – knew your father had access to this kind of weaponry – why didn’t you warn us? All those meetings, all those times you said you didn’t know anything about your military tactics… I don’t… explain it to me, Prom. _Please_.’ Noctis is staring at him, eyes glassy, not accusing but begging.

 

‘I guess I never saw the scourge as a weapon. I knew they used it for research, used it to make the soldiers – and I swear I told you everything I know about them. But this research… I couldn’t. I couldn’t say anything. I… it hurt too much.’

 

Noctis reaches over and entwines their fingers together, but he still asks, ‘why?’

 

Instead of answering, Prompto’s eyes slide shut and his grip tightens on Noctis’ hand. His mouth opens and closes a few times, but no sound comes out.

 

‘How do you know all this, Prom?’

 

Red, raw eyes open to meet Noctis’, and somehow Noctis _knows_ without knowing.

 

‘Can you give us some time alone, please?’ Noctis doesn’t look away from Prompto but sees Ignis begin to refuse in the corner of his eye. ‘Please,’ he begs, almost commands, before Ignis has the chance to object.

 

‘C’mon, Iggy,’ says Gladio, rising, ‘lets give the kids some space.’

 

Both advisors are hesitant to leave, but eventually they do, quiet mutterings drifting away until they end with the click of the hotel room door shutting. Throughout the whole episode Noctis doesn’t move his gaze away from Prompto’s.

 

Once they are alone Noctis reaches up his free hand to cup Prompto’s cheek and leans forward to peck him on the lips, ending with their foreheads pressed together. He asks again, quieter this time, barely a whisper, ‘how do you know all this?’

 

And the answer kills him.

 

‘I’m an experiment, Noct.’

 

His clutch on Prompto’s hand gets tighter.

 

‘Verstael attempted to use his research to… fix me. Make me stronger, make me the fighter my father wanted. Iedolas didn’t care about the methods so long as they yielded results.’

 

‘But you’re not…’ Noctis strokes his hand down from Prompto’s cheek and along the skin of his neck, eyes following the trail, ‘you’re not _mutated_.’

 

‘It didn’t work. It was just very painful. I think my father left me there as something to do with me, and hoped maybe one day Verstael would make a break through.’

 

‘Something to _do_ with you?’

 

‘You’ve heard my other stories, Noct. By this point I’d already disappointed him in every other aspect. What did he have to lose?’

 

‘Everything,’ Noctis murmurs, because that’s what Prompto is: everything.

 

When Prompto smiles, it’s a broken thing. ‘I’m glad someone thinks so.’ They sit in silence for a few moments, Noctis processing the information as much as Prompto processes having admitted his greatest secret. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t say anything. I really am so, so sorry. But I was scared, scared of what you would think, what you would _do_ , if you knew how messed up I was inside.’

 

‘Don’t be fucking dumb, Prompto. You’re still you. Entirely. Like you said: it didn’t work.’

 

‘Yes. Yeah. It didn’t work, not then. But it’s still a disease, it’s still dangerous, and it’s out there. It’s working for what they want it to do now. Noct, you have to get them to listen to me.’

 

‘It’ll be hard. Everyone’s going to get very hung up on why you didn’t say anything before.’

 

‘Surely it would be easier… better, maybe, if I explained it myself. Put me in the council chamber and I can apologise, explain myself – ’

 

Noctis jerks back, shaking his head. ‘There’s no way they’d let you in on the council. There’s too much tradition and habit – ’

 

‘Not if you made it happen. You’re the prince, the future king. You could get them to let me in.’ Noctis is moving away, pessimism and resignation in the lines of his features. Prompto reaches out and cups his face with both hands, forcing the other to meet his aggressive glare. ‘Noctis, please, you have to make them listen. We need to evacuate, at least until we know how deep this thing goes. Anyone who walks around past dark is at risk. The only reason I’m not fucked right now for touching it earlier is because I’ve already had shit like that pumped into my system before. My body knows how to deal with it. If it had been anyone else, hell, if it had been _you_ – I dread to think.’

 

Noctis is staring with a matching devastation, caught in deadlock. ‘Do you have any idea what you are asking me to do?’

 

‘I’m a prince, too, Noct.’

 

A knock at the door and the moment is broken. Noctis stands suddenly and brushes himself down, calling for the individual to enter. Ignis glides in, followed more slowly by Gladio.

 

‘I’ve made some calls,’ says Ignis, hand holding a phone out to Prompto, ‘if you could tell them what they are looking for, that would be wonderful.’

 

‘You can’t send people there! Who knows what could happen – ’

 

‘They are coming from Lestallum with biohazard suits. Every precaution is being taken, Prompto, I assure you.’

 

Still looking doubtful, Prompto takes the phone and meanders over to the other side of the room to answer the caller’s questions. Ignis stays, glancing first to make sure Prompto is okay then turning his attention to the other pacing prince. ‘Everything okay, Noct?’

 

Distracted, it takes a moment for Noctis to notice he is being addressed. When he does, his pacing stutters for a moment before resuming. ‘Fine.’

 

‘Are you sure?’

 

‘Just how much would everyone kick off if we got Prom into the council chamber?’

 

Ignis arches an eyebrow.

 

‘I know what you’re going to say. But trust me, I’ve already given myself the speech, and now I need you to answer the question.’

 

‘Why is it that before we have even solved your last problem, you are already trying to make life more difficult for yourself once again?’

 

Before Noctis can snap again, Gladio interrupts. ‘Why do you need him?’

 

‘Let’s say he’s right, okay? That this really is all kicking off. He _knows_ what he’s talking about, he _knows_ this weapon, better than any of us will. And, c’mon, we all know how mixed up things can get going through a third party. Information is lost… manipulated.’

 

Ignis asks, ‘and if Prompto manipulates the information himself?’

 

‘By this point, Iggy, do even you believe he will?’

 

Ignis wanders over to the table where his tablet sits. He picks it up and unlocks it, sliding through various screens as he says, ‘you will need proof, first. Something to legitimize Prompto’s claims. Perhaps then they will be willing to hear what he has to say. In the mean time, you will need stronger support than ours.’

 

‘And where would I find that?’

 

Handing the tablet toward Noctis, Ignis flashes a thin-lipped smile. ‘You need to call your father.’

 

*-*

 

‘You understand the theological and political repercussions of what you ask, yes?’

 

Regis is unhappy, staring through the video screen. Despite sitting in the sun outside on the private balcony, the oppressive gaze of his superior brings Noctis back to that leather chair in that office, where he so often got the dressing downs of his youth. He thinks the change in scenery should bolster his confidence, but in fact it merely makes him feel even more childish, a youth on holiday.

 

‘Once we initiate Prompto into the council chamber there will be no going back. No matter what happens between you and he, between Lucis and Niflheim, he will forever hold a vote in that room. Immunity, protection, the right to veto… we can deny him none of those things without breaking our own codes of honour upheld for centuries. Why would we give such power and authority to an enemy?’

 

‘Since when was Prompto an enemy? You’ve been happy enough flashing him about in front of the cameras these past years.’

 

‘Watch your tone, son. That has been entirely different and you know it. The media coverage doesn’t mean anything, not really – ’

 

‘So we’ve been wasting our time.’

 

‘That’s not what I meant.’ Regis sighs, glances away from the camera for a moment. When he looks back he seems to have recovered slightly from the stress of the conversation. ‘I’m sorry, Noctis. What you are telling me is a lot to take in. While you are sure Prompto’s reasons for discretion were justified, I cannot say the same until you reveal to me what they were – ’

 

‘They are his reasons to say.’

 

‘I’m sure. I wasn’t implying any differently. Noctis, Noctis, Noctis…’

 

‘Just let him in. He has only ever had our best interests at heart. I know that now more than ever.’

 

‘So you say, but I am not so sure… Noctis, do you remember what I have taught you about decisions. About actions. A king’s are not necessarily those of the average man. So I ask you to consider, not as his friend, but as a King, what would you do in my position?’

 

Despite the immediate instinctive answer that rises in his throat, Noctis buries the words and really considers his position, his father’s position. Prompto is a boy of torn identities, torn loyalties, who for obscure reasons has been withholding information. But then, if Noctis were king, Prompto still would have revealed to him those reasons. So no, Prompto was withholding information for justifiable reasons that now, having just cause, he is willing to painfully drudge up into the light. A self-sacrifice for others, for his own people, people he has claimed even if they have not yet decided whether or not to claim him.

 

‘I _know_ him, dad. I really do. And I believe he deserves a place in our council.’

 

Silence, and what can only be described as a pixelated depiction of pain. But Regis recovers swiftly and before Noctis can question it, Regis is speaking. ‘Very well. Have Prompto prepare a case, including as much evidence as you can find. Upon your return to Insomnia he will bring his case before myself and Clarus alone. Should we believe his concerns to have merit, we will put him before the council to present his worries and to answer any and all questions. Does this seem like a fair deal to you?’

 

‘Yes,’ breathes Noctis, because he almost cannot believe it.

 

‘I will see you soon, my son.’

 

And then King Regis is gone.

 

*-*

 

‘That journey should have taken much longer, right? I’m not imagining that. Shit. _Shit_.’

 

Noctis glances over to Prompto. The blonde is stressed, visibly so, face flushed red, fingers sliding around the itchy inside of his collar. Noctis reaches out to still Prompto’s hand. ‘Calm. Breathe. With me: in, then out. In… and out.’

 

Prompto’s eyes flutter as his chest expands and loosens.

 

‘It will probably have seemed faster since we didn’t take the scenic route this time. Not to mention you were… pretty distracted, to say the least.’

 

Prompto’s empty hands flex as though wishing to hold something.

 

‘Sure you don’t want at least your notes? Going in empty handed is… brave.’

 

‘What? Those messes I’ve been scribbling all over? They’re not exactly likely to help my case. Ignis has sent across the photos, right? Then that will have to do.’

 

‘Okay then…’

 

Noctis turns back toward the door. The boys are stood side by side, waiting in front of the large oak door that leads into Regis’ office. Eyes watch them from the back and sides, soldiers standing guard. At the last moment, Noctis reaches out to take Prompto’s hand, and Prompto clutches to it like a lifeline.

 

The door opens.

 

*-*

 

With the hand behind his back Prompto fiddles with his small diamond clip, spinning it between his fingers to stop any other part of him from shaking and shivering. It takes a great deal of effort.

 

Regis sits behind his regal desk, all dark wood and bronze trinkets. Clarus stands at his side, frowning, although not with any particular sort of malice. The two men are in deep concentration. The only time their gaze flickers from Prompto is to study the photographs provided only as physical copies on the desk. Interesting.

 

Very occasionally, Prompto allows himself a quick glance in Noctis’ direction to boost his ever-waning confidence. Noctis stands to the side against a tall bookshelf, attention alternating between his father and his husband. Prompto really hopes the guy is getting a read on the king, because with as little interaction they have had, Prompto cannot for the life of him figure out what the man is thinking.

 

It is strange to think that this is the closest he has ever come to being alone with his father in law.

 

‘How?’

 

‘Excuse me?’ Prompto stutters to a stop mid-flow. He had written and memorized his pitch on the flight back to the city and hadn’t had time to learn it properly. As such, he’d been hoping to simply power through any blanks in his memory with pure momentum. Apparently not.

 

‘You mentioned that the experiments did nothing to you,’ says Clarus, eyebrows furrowing, ‘that they failed. If this… disease had no harmful effects upon yourself, how can you be so sure that it will effect the rest of the public?’

 

Prompto swallows, trying to bury down memories of metallic lab tables and long, thin needles. ‘The experiments consisted of using specially condensed strands extracted from diseased material to achieve a desired effect. Kinda like taking out just the raisins from raisin bread so that you can eat some dried up fruit. There are also lots of different types of raisin. Okay, bad example, but you see my point.’

 

Clarus raises an eyebrow, wry gaze flickering between Regis and Noctis. Prompto can practically read what he’s thinking: _you want to let this child into the most powerful room in our nation?_ Prompto’s words stumble in a sudden bout of determination and nervousness.

 

‘Look, what I’m trying to get at is this: I wasn’t compatible. It’s hardly unheard of. Every average soldier in the Nifleheim army will have been tested. A quick injection, a couple days of sickness, and if they don’t perk back up on their own then they’re cured and sent on their jolly way into some lesser division somewhere.’

 

‘So there is a cure?’ Regis’ voice is deep, heavy, flooding the room. Kingly.

 

‘Yes. Sort of. Most strands have a reactionary antidote which when applied cancels out the effects of the other. But it’s an incredibly painful experience, one no sane general would put their army through.’

 

A scoff from Clarus.

 

‘For those antidotes to work requires the disease infecting the human host to only be a _part_ of itself. If it was whole… there’d be no stopping it.’

 

‘And this… infestation,’ Regis waves a hand absently in the direction of the photographs, ‘this is the disease in its whole form?’

 

‘From what I can tell – ’

 

‘From what you can tell –‘ Clarus interrupts, only to halt as Regis holds up a signaling hand. Regis nods for Prompto to continue.

 

‘From what I can tell, yes. It is whole. If it wasn’t, it would lack the strength required to mutate relative to rock verses plant. There would be barriers, and its adaptability would be limited. For the same reason only certain people were compatible with Verstael’s… upgrades. The strands, alone, simply don’t have all the… ingredients.’

 

‘They’re a few raisins short of a fruit cake, you mean,’ says Clarus.

 

Prompto struggles to restrain his urge to glare in Clarus’ direction. ‘I suppose you could say that, yes.’

 

There is silence in the office for a few moments. Prompto’s speech is long gone, disintegrated in the back of his mind like fog in the sun. Not that it matters. From all that he can tell, Regis has stopped listening. The ticking of a grandfather clock punctuates the long moments. When Prompto looks to Noctis again, the dark haired man flashes an encouraging smile, nodding very lightly.

 

‘What action do you suggest we take?’

 

Prompto glances back over to Regis, finding the king’s gaze now resting heavily upon him.

 

‘Evacuation, definitely. Get everyone out of the wilds. Gather them in towns, cities, places where there is a guaranteed source of light. Light is the one thing the disease can’t stand, although it has clever ways of overcoming that little pain once it’s found a host. Lestallum would be a good place.’

 

Clarus’ mouth has fallen open, and he’s looking at Prompto with wide, disbelieving eyes. ‘This is a disease, easily spread, and you want to contain an entire population in _one place_?’

 

‘I want to gather people in a place where they are least likely to catch the disease in the first place. Not to mention, they will be much closer to medical help in the unlikely event that something should happen. It’s the lights, though. That’s what we need. _That’s_ what will keep people safe. Out in the wild, it gets dark. Real dark. Who knows what could crawl out of the ground.’

 

‘But that is also only a short term solution,’ says Regis, continuing to ignore his advisor’s outbursts. It is a peculiar arrangement, to say the least. ‘What do you suggest that we do to clear up the long term problem?’

 

This is it. All those theories better be right. Prompto takes a deep breath, tightening his grip on the clip behind his back so hard that it pinches his skin, forcing it loose once again as he breathes out. ‘The crystal. The one advantage you have over Niflheim. I believe it’s the key to overcoming the scourge.’

 

‘You believe?’

 

‘I’ve never had access to one before to test the theory. Neither, thank the gods, has Verstael. All those legends were right about the scourge being real, even if they were greatly exaggerated. Maybe the crystal’s involvement had its own little grain of truth, too?’

 

Regis stares Prompto down, bent forward in his chair, saying nothing. Prompto doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe, just stares back and hopes. Finally, something nameless shifts in Regis’ expression, a slight loosening of the brow, the settling of the corners of his mouth, a question answered in the depths of his eyes. He leans back, chuckling very lightly to himself, only once, but his gaze rests heavily on the blonde prince. ‘You are a very smart boy, Prompto, for all you ridiculous quirks.’

 

‘Thank you?’

 

‘Clarus? Thoughts?’

 

Clarus stares down at the photographs for a time, then stares at Prompto, then flickers his gaze between the two. ‘I don’t like it. Something feels off. But I don’t like the thought of the scourge more, and Prompto’s ideas seem like the best we can do in a bad stitch.’

 

Regis nods to himself, fingers the edge of one of the photographs: the pond where Noctis and Prompto had spent their afternoon, already turning a sickly shade of green, with an oily sheen of black coalescing on the surface. ‘My thoughts exactly.’

 

*-*

 

The council chamber is a large auditorium, round, with chairs on all sides, the walls punctuated at regular intervals by winding ivory columns. The golds and purples that decorate the palace are spread just as richly, from the cushioned benches to the raised platform at one end displaying a throne bordered by two almost as ornate chairs: the prince and the royal advisor. Large windows illuminate the room from their place high up the walls, with tapestries marking the places between them.

 

At the centre of the room is a stage onto which the entire audience looks. To say Prompto feels exposed would be to put it lightly. The glares of the gathered senate could melt steel. Clearly, Regis’ ease with letting in an outsider was not particularly approved by the lords and ladies of the council. They could do nothing to stop their ruler, but ever showing an awareness for the inclinations of his people, Regis put as many restraints on Prompto’s access as he could. He was allowed entry only a full two hours after the meeting of the day had started, so as to avoid his overhearing other subjects they needed to cover. Prompto spent that whole time sweating with anxiety, a feeling that only got worse as he was allowed on to the stage to give his same – if more planned and refined – speech as that he gave to Regis.

 

In his dazed determination, Prompto didn’t notice many of the individuals watching him, mainly just feeling the sensation of general heavy disapproval. There were a couple of motivating faces he saw whose expressions developed into ones of mistrust and anger to concern and agreement. However, there were just as many whose expressions grew angrier or in some rare cases simply disinterested and bored.

 

But finally the time comes for the vote. Prompto has done everything he can to convince these people, sheltered and unsheltered alike, of the danger they are facing, even if Ideolus is yet to officially declare war. So it is with resignation that Prompto watches as Clarus stands.

 

‘All those in favour of the precautions and actions proposed by Prince Prompto Argentum Aldercapt- Caelum, raise your hand now.’

 

Noctis’ hand goes up immediately, followed by a leisurely, calculating Regis and a reluctant Clarus. Prompto holds his breath as slowly, hand by hand, more of the congregation put their hands in the air. It is slow, not nearly as enthusiastic as Prompto had hoped, but the votes do come forward as the minute passes. He is left with a small majority voicing their support, but the most important thing is that no one attempted to use their veto – a vocal rejection of the proposal that would have triggered a lengthily process of compromise on all sides.

 

Many of the council were not happy about it, but they were all willing to let Prompto gather their population in the city of Lestallum.

 

*-*

 

Once the meeting is disbanded many individuals evaporate from the room. Regis, accompanied by an entourage of suited and robed men and women, catches Prompto before he has the chance to dissolve along with the anonymous crowd.

 

‘Congratulations, Prompto. It seems we will make a politician of you yet.’

 

Still on a come down of his nerves, and distracted with searching for Noctis in the crowd, Prompto puts very little thought into his reply. ‘It is what I was raised to,’ and after an awkward beat, in which time he realizes just who he is talking to, he adds, ‘your majesty.’

 

Regis smiles, an unreadable turn of the mouth that is far from happy. ‘Given your urgency we will be moving plans forward as quickly as possible. We hope to have the evacuation complete within the three days.’

 

Prompto feels his eyebrows rise as he fails to restrain his surprise. ‘That quickly?’

 

‘Of course. You were… very clear about the urgency.’

 

‘Yes. Yes, of course.’

 

‘ _Prompto!_ ’ The yell breaks the quiet moment and many in the group glance over to see a grinning Noctis approaching the blonde prince, the darker haired man uncaring of how loudly he must speak to be heard from the other side of the room. ‘You did great!’

 

‘He’s very proud of you, you know.’ Prompto glances back at Regis whose gaze has become heavy and serious, weighted with something unspoken. Before Prompto has the chance to say anything more to the king, Noctis is upon him, dragging the two of them away with nothing more than a wave and a nod to his father, etiquette lost in his pride.

 

‘That was so, so good, Prom. I knew you could do it.’

 

‘Yeah.’ Prompto tries to give his attention back over to his husband, but Regis’ voice echoes in his head, round and round. ‘All according to plan,’ he murmurs, as they lose themselves in amongst the crowd of Insomnia’s politics.

 

*-*

 

_Clara has never been to a city before, never experienced anything so bright and white and busy, never met so many different people, all of whom are laughing and crying in equal measure._

_Her mother and father seem equally as confused as the rest of the city, forgetting this and complaining about that. The people they are staying with are loud, and though the adults try to be friendly, there is a little boy who Clara finds cruel, constantly taking her things and pushing her out of the comfortable spaces she builds for herself in the blankets._

_So Clara escapes. Mother and father are distracted, downstairs at the front desk arguing along with all the other people who have never lived in cities before. The little boy is asleep, bathed in the electric light through the window that cuts through the night. Clara sneaks past them all, out into the evening city streets._

_Mother says this isn’t a holiday, but Clara is sure she can make it one._

 

*-*

 

_Her name is Liv and she, like every other girl in the city at the moment given all the evacuation mess, is from out of town. Lou can’t believe his luck. Becoming single just in time for this free for all._

_Lou decides to take Liv to his favourite spot for hooking up with girls – a small plateau in the hills just outside the city, far enough away that the noise and lights interrupt nothing, but close enough that the views give him something to smooth the chicks over with (a lot of “have you ever seen anything so beautiful” from them, and “yeah, you” bullshit from him). It’s not quite the same as usual – she keeps nattering on about “risks of the dark” and “royal warnings” but she comes, hesitantly, probably as down for the prospect of privacy and getting laid as he is, cooped up, as they are, in a city as suddenly overpopulated as Lestallum has become._

 

*-*

 

Prompto is staring out of the window in their bedroom, shirt off, jeans hanging loose on his hips, when Noctis walks into the room. The darker prince stops for a second. Prompto watches Noctis in the reflection as he admires the view, and waits. Noctis approaches slowly, hands sliding around the skin of his hips, hugging Prompto from behind, mouth pressing a kiss to the curve of his collar. Prompto can feel the other’s smile, although he cannot bring himself to match it. Luckily, Noctis isn’t paying attention.

 

‘You did it,’ Noctis says between kisses, each one a little higher, ‘you saved an entire people. The evacuation is finished. We can start work on research any day now. And your father doesn’t have a clue.’

 

Prompto crushes his eyes shut but only pulls Noctis closer, hand wrapping back around Noctis to pull them face to face for a full kiss.

 

‘C’mon,’ says Noctis, taking Prompto hands and tugging him towards the bed, ‘let’s celebrate.’

 

*-*

 

_N-1P560 jolted in their seat, thrown by the sudden burst of turbulence. The airship was silent other than the burning of the engine, the occasional clanging footsteps of their overseer pacing the aisle. They flew in darkness, hidden by the night._

_From the corner of their eye, N-1P560 could see the front windscreen of the ship, and through it, the glowing white orb of a city._

 

*-*

 

_It’s the sounds mostly, the loud, constant droning. Clara is not even near the road yet the noise hovers in the background, slowly growing louder, a constant companion to disorientate and confuse as she wanders the streets._

_The noise is why she doesn’t hear the footsteps around the corner, is why she crashes right into the tall man with the friendly smile and the stripy blue shirt._

_‘What have we got here then,’ he asks, crouching down to Clara’s level, ‘are you out on your own?’_

_Clara doesn’t know what to say to the stranger, so she says nothing at all._

_He frowns, and there are a few droning moments as he tries to decide what to do. Eventually, he leans up and begins to lead her by the hand back towards the central streets of the city, where the lights are brightest and the streets busiest._

_He holds her hand, tries and fails to keep her from falling when the ground begins to shake._

 

*-*

 

_‘What’s that,’ Liv asks, leaning up and pushing Lou away._

_Lou groans, trying to lean back in to carry on mouthing at the girl’s neck. She’s far too talkative for his tastes._

_‘Seriously,’ Liv insists, slapping Lou away and gesturing towards the darkness in the distance. ‘What is that?’_

_‘Probably just a cloud or something,’ Lou mutters, attempting to slide his hand back around her neck. In the darkness he can’t quite make out her expression, but he’s sure she doesn’t look happy. Not that he cares._

_‘It’s moving way too fast to be a cloud. I thought the city was a no-fly zone?’_

_‘A what?’_

_‘You don’t even care, do you?’_

_Rather than answering Lou flops backwards onto the grass, mimicking her presumably grouchy face as he soundlessly repeats the question. It’s not like she can see it._

_Except she can. Because at that moment, the world lights up._

 

*-*

 

Noctis’ favourite part of Prompto is how responsive he is. How every touch and shift can leave the blonde gasping and writhing. How, in sex, Prompto is entirely overwhelmed, entirely in the moment, entirely feeling over thought.

 

Noctis is learning his way around now, learning where to touch with a whisper of lips and where to nip with the hint of teeth. Learning the angle to thrust at to make Prompto arch and call out Noctis’ name.

 

Prompto has left the curtains open. Noctis thinks it appropriate. Not only do the lights glisten on Prompto’s skin, but there’s an openness, a connection in the world, leaving them open to a sky, a distance, that connects them to a city of light, a people saved by Prompto’s very own determination.

 

And if Prompto never opens his eyes, never looks at this stretching expanse of sky, Noctis can only presume he’s overwhelmed by this, them, _Noctis_.

 

*-*

 

_The red alarms begin to blare, silent still, but creating a sense of urgency that sets N-1P560 on edge. They do not move, nor do their compatriots either side of them. They are the clean up, to be set loose after the dramatic event to make up the main body of the night’s mission._

_The front window is overwhelmed with light, hovering over the city as they are. The aircraft jolts, shudders, shakes with the changed weight each time a deadly load is set loose on the people below._

_If N-1P560 had a conscience, they might hear screams, imaginary or no, echoing up from the destroyed buildings. But any such humanity is long gone, so N-1P560 stands and ignores the world below. Stands and waits to be let loose, should they be needed if the bombs aren’t enough._

*-*

 

_Liv finally shuts up._

_Lou doesn’t notice to appreciate it._

_The world is ending._

_They can feel the ground shaking, collapsing in on itself with every dropped bomb. There is a whole fleet of black, fiery forms hovering over the city, one by one dropping death on the busy streets. As the first wave hits, a wall of wind and noise shatters their hearing and they sit in a ghostly silence as little by little their city is flattened._

_Lou reaches over and takes Liv’s hand. She clutches at it as though it is all she has left._

_Finally, with an explosion to make every other of the attack seem small, one of the ships hits the power station. The storm of fire and smoke billows into a giant mushroom cloud that swallows the ships in its blackness. There were a few surviving electric lights glimmering against the flames, not to mention the trail of road lights that stretched into the distance. But without power, light held no hope._

_Dazed, scared, and alone, Liv and Lou sit and watch, holding hands, as one by one the lights go out._

 

*-*

 

Noctis sleeps soundly, one arm wrapped around the man he loves, peaceful in the knowledge of their good deed, their success in saving the people of the far away district.

 

Beside him, Prompto stares at the ceiling, and doesn’t sleep at all.

 

*-*


End file.
